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Cl.  P! 


TEACHERS’  COLLECTION 


TRINITY  COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

DURHAM,  N.  C. 


Rec’d 


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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
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https://archive.org/details/northerneurope01unse 


A  Scene  in  Russia 

See  pages  109- 122 


YOUTH'S  COMPANION  SERIES 


NORTHERN  EUROPE 


Norway,  Russia,  The  Netherlands, 
France,  Germany,  and 
Switzerland 


EDITED  BY 

M.  A.  L.  LANE 


C  2 


BOSTON,  U.S.A. 

GINN  &  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 

Cbe  Stljcnacum  fkcss 

1903 


!  THE  YOUTH'S  COMPANION 
SERIES 

GEOGRAPHICAL  READERS 

THE  WIDE  WORLD 

NORTHERN  EUROPE 

UNDER  SUNNY  SKIES 

TOWARD  THE  RISING  SUN  (In  preparation) 

STRANGE  LANDS  NEAR  HOME 

(In  preparation) 


Copyright,  1902,  by  Perry  Mason  Company 


jM 


PREFATORY  NOTE 


cj-*HE  volumes  of  the  “Youth's  Companion"  Series 
entitled  “ The  Wide  World,"  “ Northern 
Europe ,"  “ Under  Sunny  Skies,"  Coward  the  Rising 
Sun,"  and  “ Strange  Lands  near  Home"  provide  in 
interesting  and  attractive  form  a  supply  of  reading 
material  for  either  home  or  school  that  is  especially 
suitable  for  supplementing  the  formal  teaching  of 
geography. 

“  The  Wide  W or  Id,"  with  which  the  series  prop¬ 
erly  begins ,  presents  vivid  scenes  from  many  countries. 
Each  of  the  succeeding  volumes  enters  into  somewhat 
greater  detail  on  a  limited  area ,  which  is  indicated 
by  the  title.  The  sketches  have  been  prepared  by 
authors  whose  work  needs  no  introduction. 

“ Northern  Europe"  contains  descriptions  of  coun¬ 
tries  lying  north  of  the  Alps,  and  brings  into  prominence 
those  features  which  seem  to  the  visitor  striking  or 
characteristic. 


M  b  X 


CONTENTS 


Page 

The  Faroe  Islands  ....  Johannes  H.  IVisby  .  i 

Life  in  Norway . William  H  Corey  .  .  n 

Scenes  in  Holland . 4leph  Page  .  .  .  .  18 

A  Holland  Dairy  ....  Eleanor  H  Patterson.  22 

A  Dutch  Market  Place . 29 

Scenes  in  Belgium  .  .  .  .  E.  H.  Terrell  ...  39 

A  People  on  Stilts  .  .  .  Jean  Bertrand  ...  46 

The  Eiffel  Tower  .  .  .  .  C.  A.  Stephens  ...  53 

On  the  Quicksands  .  .  Lucy  C.  Kellogg  .  .  61 

Life  in  the  Alps  ....  John  Tyndall  ...  78 

An  Open-Air  Parliament  .  S.  H.  M.  Byers  .  .  95 

Down  the  Moselle  .  .  .  Morton  Dexter  .  .  .104 

A  Russian  Village.  .  .  .  The  Princess  Kropotkin  109 

A  Glimpse  of  Switzerland  .  John  D.  Washburn  .  123 
Holland’s  War  with  the  Sea  James  Howard  Gore  .  129 

Pronouncing  Vocabulary . 135 

[vi] 


NORTHERN  EUROPE 


THE  FAROE  ISLANDS 

About  the  year  725  Irish  and  Scotch  monks 
discovered  the  islands  now  called  by  the  .name 
“  Faroe.”  As  every  schoolboy  should  know, 
the  Faroe  Islands  lie  nearly  midway  between 
Scotland  and  Iceland. 

One  of  the  discoverers  describes  the  islets  as 
being  very  small,  of  a  mountainous  character,  and 
separated  by  narrow,  river-like  sounds.  Concern¬ 
ing  their  primeval  settlement  he  says,  “  The  islands 
have  remained  uninhabited  since  the  creation  of 
the  world,  with  the  exception  of  one  century, 
during  which  hermits  from  Scotland  found  refuge 
along  their  desolate  shores.” 

During  the  ninth  century  vikings  from  Nor¬ 
way  and  Scotland  began  to  settle  on  some  of 
the  islands.  Since  then  the  population  has 
steadily  increased ;  yet  only  half  of  the  twenty- 
two  islets  are  inhabited  by  an  average  of  one 

[1] 


Northern  Europe 


thousand  individuals  each  —  about  eleven  thou¬ 
sand  in  all. 

The  solemnity  of  these  rocky  cliffs  has  been 
little  relieved  by  the  native  artisan,  but  he  has 
worked  in  some  places  with  good  taste,  and  beau¬ 
tified  what  nature  suggested.  Thorshavn  is  a  fair 
example.  Situated  on  an  eminence  rising  from 
a  valley  between  two  mountains,  this  village  of 
light-painted  wooden  houses  harmonizes  with  the 
grass-green  hillsides,  and  somewhat  resembles  a 
piece  of  jewelry  placed  on  emerald  satin. 

1  he  most  conspicuous  residence  is  that  of  the 
Amtmand ,  or  sheriff;  it  is  built  in  modern  design 
and  bears  a  white  flag  pole,  on  which  the  Danish 
banner  floats  at  the  arrival  of  a  man  of  war  or  on 
holiday  occasions. 

There  are  no  paved  streets  on  any  of  the  islands. 
1  he  tall,  hardy  Faroese  carries  heavy  articles  on 
his  muscular  back,  or,  if  the  load  be  too  great 

o 

for  that,  uses  a  sort  of  wheelbarrow  on  the  worn 
paths. 

Unlike  the  Icelanders,  the  Faroese  display  a 
considerable  degree  of  taste  in  dress.  They  are 
diligent  weavers,  and  produce  admirable  knitted 
articles.  Faroese  stockings  are  famous  for  solidity 

[2] 


The  Faroe  Islands 


and  quality.  The  people  dye  most  fabrics  to  a 
dark  brown,  and  the  islanders  understand  well 
how  to  cut  and  prepare  the  woven  cloth. 


The  Faroese  man  has  a  well-dressed  look  with 
his  pointed,  tasseled  cap,  and 
the  row  of  silver-plated  buttons 
on  his  brown  jacket,  which  is 
usually  open  in  front  except  at 
the  neck.  A  broad  belt,  often 
elaborately  embroidered,  girds  his 
waist;  the  indispensable  stock¬ 
ings  reach  up  under  his  short 
breeches ;  and  his  moccasins  of 
tanned  lambskin  are  secured  to 
his  legs  by  twined  lace. 

The  women  commonly  wrap 
themselves  in  excellent  home- 
spun  shawls,  fastened  across  the 
breast  by  a  long  metal  pin.  From 
under  their  heavy  petticoats  peep 
yellow  moccasins.  On  Sundays  or  at  festivals 
both  men  and  women  wear  eider-down  caps,  and 
the  children,  who  dress  exactly  like  their  parents, 
are  happy  when  permitted  to  try  on  the  soft 
head  gear. 


[3] 


Northern  Europe 


The  chief  industries  are  fowling,  and  the  breed¬ 
ing  of  sheep.  The  soil  produces  few  crops ;  but 
barley  has  been  cultivated  with  some  success, 
the  crop  of  oats  is  considerable,  and  potatoes 
flourish. 

In  spring  the  sheep  graze  during  the  day,  and 
are  brought  home  toward  sunset;  but  there  is 
no  regular  shepherd  life  about  the  folds,  as  in 
Norway.  The  sheep  are  sheared,  and  the  wool 
is  turned  over  to  the  women,  who  skillfully  work 
it  into  useful  fabrics. 

The  people  have  a  legend  of  an  old  man 
who  is  said  to  live  with  his  flock  on  the  island  of 
Little  Dimon.  None  but  he  ever  found  this  islet 
habitable,  for  the  mountain  sides  rise  almost  per¬ 
pendicularly  from  the  sea,  and  the  summit  can  be 
reached  by  only  one  difficult  path;  but  up  there 
the  old  man’s  sheep  are  said  to  graze  on  the 
plateaus,  and  he  himself  lives  in  some  hut  or 
cave,  regardless  of  the  world  outside. 

Occasionally  this  mythical  shepherd  is  seen  at 
night,  steering  his  swift  boat  to  the  fishing  places; 
but  he  always  returns  before  dawn,  and  though 
Thorshavn  lies  but  a  few  miles  from  his  dwelling 
he  is  never  seen  there.  He  is  said  to  have  a 

[4] 


The  Faroe  Islands 


full,  streaming  beard,  and  to  wear  long,  druidical 
apparel. 

In  summer  all  the  islands  resound  with  the 
cries  of  sea  birds,  which  soar  in  huge  flocks  from 
the  gray  cliffs,  noisily  ascend,  and  almost  obscure 
the  sky  by  their  dense  masses.  Often  these  flocks 
of  birds  look  like  threatening  rain  clouds.  Some¬ 
times  they  fly  farther  out  to  sea  than  their  strength 
warrants,  and  then  such  of  the  exhausted  birds 
as  are  not  web-footed  settle  down  upon  some 
passing  ship. 

Often  they  descend  on  the  rigging  in  such 
crowds  that  the  yards  break,  making  much  work 
for  the  sailors,  who  dread  the  “fowl  clouds ’’more 
than  a  gale.  On  some  vessels  the  crews  are  pro¬ 
vided  with  firearms,  and  an  attempt  is  made  to 
keep  the  birds  away;  but  often  the  flocks  settle 
down  with  such  suddenness  and  in  such  vast 
numbers  that  a  great  deal  of  shooting  makes 
little  impression  on  them. 

Sailors  tell  of  long  fights  with  the  birds,  and 
often  endeavor  to  convince  an  incredulous  listener 
by  showing  him  scars  from  beaks  and  talons. 

In  the  fowling  season,  when  all  the  nests  are 
lined  with  down,  the  Faroese  youth  prepares  for 

[5] 


Northern  Europe 


venturesome  expeditions.  He  carries  to  the  cliff 
tops  a  long,  solid  rope  with  a.yard  or  two  of  chain 
at  one  end.  This  chain,  placed  on  a  rocky  edge, 


A  Fowling  Expedition 

protects  the  rope  from  being  frayed  or  cut. 
The  man  also  carries  a  pliable  pole  attached  to  a 
large  net,  and  other  nets  hang  loose  from  his  belt. 
A  steel-pointed  steering  rod  completes  his  outfit. 

[6] 


The  Faroe  Islands 


Parties  of  young  men,  three  in  each,  start 
early  in  the  morning  to  climb  the  black,  dewy 
cliffs,  at  whose  towering  summits  the  night 
clouds  linger,  and  whose  feet  are  wreathed  in 
white  fog.  Having  reached  the  fowling  grounds, 
they  find  a  suitable  place  for  the  chain.  A 
protruding  part  of  the  mountain  is  preferred. 
The  fowler  takes  his  nets  and  rod.  Then  his 
companions  bind  the  rope  round  his  waist,  lift 
him  over  the  edge,  and  lower  him  slowly  down 
the  precipice,  giving  him  time  to  steer  clear  of 
rocks  below.  When  the  chain  passes  through 
the  palms  of  the  men  above  they  hold  on 
hard. 

The  fowler  regulates  his  descent  by  appointed 
signals  made  by  striking  the  rope  with  his  hand. 
As  he  hovers  over  the  nests  he  flings  his  pole  net 
into  the  swarms  of  birds,  which,  scared  from  their 
sleep,  flutter  about  in  bewilderment  with  shrill 
cries. 

Having  filled  his  nets  with  birds,  he  gives  the 
signal  and  is  hoisted  up.  Then  he  discharges  his 
prey,  examines  the  rope,  loosens  his  belt,  attaches 
empty  nets  to  it,  and  sets  out  with  his  comrades 
for  a  new  ground. 


[7] 


Northern  Europe 


In  addition  to  the  fowler’s  risk  that  the  rope 
may  break,  or  that  heavy  stones  may  fall  on  him, 
he  runs  some  hazard  of  attack  from  the  sea  eagle, 
against  whose  powerful  wing  strokes  the  boldest 
man  is  almost  defenseless.  The  fowler,  with  his 
back  against  the  mountain,  balancing  on  some 
nest,  may  parry  a  series  of  attacks,  and  succeed 
in  stabbing  the  eagle  with  his  rod;  but  if  his 
antagonists  are  many,  or  if  they  tear  the  rope 
with  their  talons,  as  they  are  said  to  have  done 
in  some  cases,  he  finds  his  grave  hundreds  of  feet 
below  on  the  rocky  shore. 

Wire  ropes  would  give  some  security  against 
the  terrible  risks,  but  they  are  not  known  to  the 
islanders,  and  would  be  too  expensive. 

When  all  the  nets  are  tightly  packed  with 
down  each  party  returns  to  some  sheltered 
plateau,  to  which  the  boys  have  driven  the 
ponies.  These  small,  shaggy  animals  carry  their 
masters  and  loads  homeward  over  slippery  moun¬ 
tain  paths,  through  winding  defiles  and  across 
shallow  streams,  till  at  length  the  adventurers 
see  their  own  valley  and  the  straggling  huts 
with  turf-clad  roofs  upon  which  long  grasses 
wave  a  cheery  welcome. 

[8] 


The  Faroe  Islands 


The  children  run  out,  clapping  their  hands 
joyfully,  and  on  the  threshold  stands  the  mother, 
happy  if  none  of  the  fowlers  have  been  lost. 

The  highly  prized  downs  are  then  assorted, 
put  up  in  bundles,  and  taken  to  the  market 
at  Thorshavn.  The  sum  obtained  there  usually 
amounts  to  more  than  the  family’s  returns  from 
the  tilling  of  the  soil.  Indeed,  fowling  and 
wool  raising  are  the  chief  resources  of  these 
people. 

What  the  dog  is  to  the  Eskimo  and  the  cod  to 
the  Icelander,  the  eider  duck  is  to  the  Faroese. 
The  uncommonly  fine  down  of  one  species,  called 
the  “king  eider,”  is  a  treasure  to  the  lucky  fowler; 
but  the  king  eiders  are  rare. 

The  Faroese  youth,  fed  from  infancy  on  tales 
of  elves  and  trolls,  is  strongly  inclined  to  romance. 
He  likes  to  take  his  lantern,  when  the  night  is 
dark  and  stormy,  cast  himself  into  his  boat  with 
the  large  skin  sails,  and  take  in  his  father’s  bow 
nets,  working  through  drenching  foam  and  defy¬ 
ing  the  elements.  When  all  are  saved  and  the 
prow  turned  homeward,  he  abandons  himself  to 
the  spirit  of  the  fables  heard  round  the  fireplace 
at  home. 


[9] 


Northern  Europe 


He  hugs  the  sails  so  close  to  the  wind  that 
the  lee  rail  plunges  into  the  sea;  he  poises  with 
the  tiller  to  windward ;  his  heart  throbs  with 
glee  and  courage.  On  all  sides  roar  the  turbu¬ 
lent  billows,  gleaming  with  phosphorescent  crests 
and  lashing  his  cheeks  with  their  foam. 


Johannes  H.  Wisby. 


LIFE  IN  NORWAY 


It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  Norway  is  a 
country  remote  from  the  world,  whose  chief  claim 


A  Fiord  in  Norway 

to  existence  is  that  it  is  a  romantic  pleasure 
ground.  Norway  is  in  fact  easily  accessible. 
Railways  penetrate  it  from  Sweden,  extending 

["] 


Northern  Europe 


to  the  North  Sea;  and  steamboat  lines  ply  regu¬ 
larly  between  its  ports  and  those  of  Denmark, 
Great  Britain,  and  the  United  States. 

Christiania,  its  capital,  nestling  among  pine- 
clad  hills  at  the  head  of  a  romantic  fiord  or  inlet 
which  is  sixty  miles  long,  is  a  beautiful  city  of  a 
hundred  thousand  people.  It  has  broad  streets 
laid  out  at  right  angles,  and  stores  and  hotels 
which  would  do  credit  to  any  capital. 

The  people  of  Christiania  are  exceedingly  well 
educated,  refined,  and  hospitable,  very  fond  of 
their  city  and  country,  and  much  given  to  social 
pleasures  and  music. 

Railways  are  comparatively  few  in  Norway, 
owing  to  the  cost  of  construction  in  a  moun¬ 
tainous  country  and  to  the  disinclination  of  the 
people  to  speculative  enterprise.  The  highways, 
however,  are  excellent,  and  one  may  “  travel 
post  ”  almost  anywhere  in  a  public  carriole ,  or 
post  chaise.  The  post  stations  are  seven  miles 
apart,  and  the  traveler  changes  horse  and  car¬ 
riage  at  each  one  of  these  stations.  In  certain 
remote  country  districts  there  are  no  inns ;  and 
here  the  traveler  must  lodge  with  the  nearest 
farmer  or  priest.  These  people  are  so  hospitable 

[12] 


Life  in  Norway 


that  they  occasionally  refuse  to  take  pay,  and 
invite  the  traveler  to  remain  with  them  as  long 
as  he  will;  but  the  fare  is  often  primitive.  I  have 

frequently  found,  in 
summer,  that  a  farmer’s 


larder  contained  nothing  but  thick  sour  milk  and 
rye  bread,  with  sweet  milk  to  drink.  The  sour 
milk  is  kept  in  a  large,  shallow  tub,  which  at 
mealtime  is  placed  upon  the  table.  Each  mem¬ 
ber  of  the  family  marks  off  with  his  spoon  as 
much  as  he  thinks  he  can  eat.  Each  covers  his 

[13] 


Scene  in  Norway 


Northern  Europe 


portion  with  sugar,  and  all  fall  to  eagerly,  as  if  it 
were  the  daintiest  dish  in  the  world. 

The  people  of  the  cities  dress  as  people  do  in 
England  or  America.  In  the  country  the  women 
wear  short,  full  woolen  skirts,  with  bright-colored 
bodices  decked  with  bangles, 
while  the  men  look  decidedly 
odd  in  extremely  short  cloth 
jackets  with  bright  buttons,  and 
trousers  which  ascend  nearly  to 
the  armpits. 

The  Norwegian  people  are 
strongly  inclined  toward  re¬ 
publican  political  principles,  and 
greet  the  king  of  Sweden  and 
Norway  somewhat  coldly  on  his  rare  visits  to 
their  country.  The  king  is  supposed  to  spend 
one  third  of  his  time  in  Norway,  but  he  certainly 
does  not  do  so.  He  has  about  ten  thousand 

dollars  a  year  from  the  Norwegian  revenues,  and 

it  is  not  surprising  that  the  great  majority  of 
the  people  of  Norway  think  they  could  get  on 
just  as  well  without  him. 

The  people  celebrate  the  1 7th  of  May,  the 
anniversary  of  their  separation  from  Denmark, 

[14] 


Life  in  Norway 


much  as  we  celebrate  the  Fourth  of  July  —  with 
cannon  firing,  fireworks,  and  processions,  but 
without  the  firecrackers. 


The  Christmas  and  New  Year’s  observances 
are  not  unlike  those  in  other  northern  countries; 
but  the  Norwegians  have  a  peculiar  and  beauti¬ 
ful  Christmas  custom,  which  is  universal  among 
them,  of  hanging  out  small  sheaves  of  corn  for 
the  birds. 


Northern  Europe 


Skating,  in  the  rinks  and  on  the  fiord,  is  a 
popular  winter  amusement,  though  the  ice  of  the 
fiord  is  sometimes  dangerous  on  account  of  the 
cuttings  made  by  fishermen.  Snowshoeing,  upon 
shoes  frequently  ten  feet  in  length,  is  also  a 
favorite  diversion,  and  some  wonderful  tobog¬ 
ganing  is  done  just  outside  the  capital.  To  the 
summit  of  a  mountain  close  by  the  city  great 
sleds  are  drawn  by  horses.  Then  each  sled,  laden 
with  a  dozen  people  or  more,  comes  coasting- 
down  the  mountain  with  terrific  speed. 

One  Norwegian  custom  is  very  objectionable 
to  foreigners  —  the  practice  of  maintaining  a  suffo¬ 
cating  heat  in  the  dwellings,  and  excluding  the 
fresh  air  as  completely  as  possible. 

In  April  the  winter  vanishes  as  if  by  magic; 
the  snow  disappears,  and  vegetation  springs  up 
at  a  bound.  The  people  soon  betake  themselves 
to  summer  quarters  in  the  country,  and  the  busi¬ 
ness  streets  of  the  city  are  almost  deserted. 
Another  round  of  pleasure  begins  —  with  picnics, 
fishing,  boating,  bathing,  and  out-of-door  diver¬ 
sions  of  all  sorts.  The  Norwegian  forests,  which 
are  chiefly  of  pine  brightened  with  birch,  are 
full  of  the  most  beautiful  wild  flowers.  Many 

[  1 6  ] 


Life  in  Norway 


varieties  which  with  us  grow  only  when  culti¬ 
vated,  such  as  the  lily  of  the  valley  and  sweet 
violets,  grow  wild  in  these  Norwegian  woods. 

Bathing  is  a  little  dangerous  in  the  fiords  for 
any  but  good  swimmers.  The  depth  of  the  waters 
is  great,  and  the  descent  of  the  shores  abrupt. 
At  times,  too,  there  is  in  the  water  a  sort  of 
jellyfish  which  impregnates  it  with  a  poison  as 
stinging  to  the  skin  as  is  the  nettle.  The  summer 
residences  are  generally  provided  with  bath  houses 
which  have  cages  to  keep  the  swimmer  in  and  the 
jellyfish  out.  Boating  is  somewhat  perilous  on 
account  of  the  frequency  of  squalls. 

The  summer  lasts  from  May  until  October,  and 
is  a  delightful  season.  From  May  to  September 
lamps  are  dispensed  with,  and  in  the  last  half  of 
June  in  Christiania  one  may  read  a  newspaper  at 
midnight  without  artificial  light.  The  birds  seem 
never  to  sleep  at  this  period;  they  are  as  lively  at 
midnight  as  at  noon. 

The  enterprising  Norwegian’s  chief  desire 
seems  to  be  to  get  to  America.  Many  intend 
to  return  to  Norway  when  their  fortunes  are 
improved,  but  few  ever  do  so. 

William  H.  Corey. 


[i7] 


SCENES  IN  HOLLAND 


Perhaps  among  all  the  attractions  that  Holland 
can  boast  the  windmills  are  most  varied,  and 


appeal  most 
strongly  to  the 
eye.  One  never 
tires  of  watching 
them ;  there  are 
many  varieties, 
yet  they  never 
make  themselves 
too  prominent  in 
the  landscape. 
Most  of  them  are 
painted  with  the 
brightest  of  tints, 
which  are  never¬ 
theless  toned  into 


a  delicious  harmony  by  the  blue  gray  of  the  atmos¬ 
phere,  and  all,  with  their  wildly  whirling  sails,  seem 
to  embody  the  very  spirit  of  thrift  and  industry. 

[IS] 


Scenes  in  Holland 


The  traveler  gifted  with  an  artistic  eye,  in 
noting  how  they  fit  the  landscape,  may  not  at  first 
realize  their  vast  utility,  but  he  soon  learns  that 
they  are  the  gigantic  servitors  of  the  country,  and 
are  used  not  only  in  draining  the  land,  but  for 
various  lesser  operations,  such  as  crushing  grain 
or  sawing  logs.  Their  number  on  any  farm  accu¬ 
rately  indicates  the  owner’s  wealth,  and  the  bride 
is  well  satisfied  who  goes  to  her  new  home  with 
a  dowry  of  several  windmills. 

The  head  gear  of  the  women  is  usually  elaborate 
and  striking.  Almost  all  of  them  wear  caps,  some¬ 
times  plain,  but  often  diversi¬ 
fied  like  that  in  the  sketch, 
which  is  trimmed  with  lace 
and  ornamented  by  gold  pins 
at  the  sides.  The  quality  of 
the  lace  and  the  richness  of 
the  pins  furnish  conclusive 
evidence  of  the  class  and  wealth  of  the  wearer. 
A  very  effective  headdress  is  one  common  in 
Friesland,  consisting  of  a  helmet  of  gold,  silver, 
or  some  other  burnished  metal,  which  is  covered 
with  lace,  often  of  a  very  precious  quality. 
Secured  to  the  sides  of  the  metal  cap  or  “  hoof 

[19] 


Northern  Europe 


dyzer  ”  (head  iron),  on  a  line  with  the  eyes,  are 
spiral  ornaments  of  gold,  or  pendants  set  with 
jewels. 

A  lady  thus  bedecked  presents  a  gorgeous 
appearance,  not  even  to  be  exceeded  by  that  of 
royalty,  in  its  everyday  dress.  Still,  the  plain 
white  linen  cap  is  most  common  among  the 
peasantry  and  very  becoming  to  the  broad,  chubby 
faces  of  children. 

The  cleanliness  of  Holland  deserves  to  pass 
into  a  score  of  proverbs.  In  some  of  the  larger 
towns,  where  the  houses  front  directly  upon  the 
street,  the  early  traveler  is  liable  to  stumble  over 
housemaids  on  their  knees,  or  to  be  splashed  by 
the  pails  of  water  which  they  are  dashing  against 
walls  and  windows. 

Often,  too,  girls  may  be  seen  kneeling  and 
rooting  out  grass  from  the  chinks  of  a  pave¬ 
ment,  where  it  has  tried  to  assert  its  unwelcome 
existence. 

There  are  few  hedges  or  fences  in  Holland, 
but  rush-bordered  ditches  separate  different  plots 
of  ground,  and  everywhere,  in  the  frequent  stream¬ 
lets,  are  reflected  the  windmills,  in  long,  wavering 
lines,  under  the  wonderful  sunset  light. 

[20] 


Scenes  in  Holland 


A  little  earlier  in  the  day  may  be  seen  the 
milkmaid  going  home  with  two  brass  cans  sus¬ 
pended  on  her  shoulders.  The  farmer,  also, 
takes  his  homeward  way,  smoking  his  pipe,  held 
sidewise  or  upside  down,  according  to  the  queer 
Dutch  fashion. 

Storks  are  flying  at  all  hours  across  the  country, 
their  long  wings  loosely  flapping,  and  their  slender 
legs  hanging  down,  as  if  broken.  They  are  very 
much  like  the  decorative  Japanese  stork,  and  the 
Dutch  regard  them  with  a  consideration  which 
amounts  almost  to  reverence.  Often  the  birds 
build  their  nests  on  the  chimneys,  but  here  and 
there  are  to  be  seen  long  poles  stuck  into  the 
ground,  and  bearing  at  the  top  a  sort  of  basket, 
in  which  the  stork  may  rest  in  security. 

These  birds  are  of  great  benefit  to  the  country 
for  the  reason  that,  although  they  are  eaters  of 
fish,  they  devour  also  large  numbers  of  reptiles 
and  insects.  When  one  settles  upon  a  house,  it 
is  regarded  as  such  a  good  omen  that  the  most 
skeptical  person  would  never  dream  of  driving  it 
away,  and  there  is  still  in  existence  a  law  impos¬ 
ing  a  fine  upon  any  one  who  shall  kill  a  stork. 

Aleph  Page. 

[2!  J 


A  HOLLAND  DAIRY 


Washed,  combed,  groomed,  petted,  and  luxu¬ 
riantly  stabled  in  winter  like  the  finest  of  our 
race  horses,  and  put  to  graze  in  flowery,  well- 
watered  green  fields  in  summer,  the  Holstein 
cows  of  Holland  can  envy  no  animal  the  world 
over. 

The  two  lions  represented  upon  the  heraldic 
shield  of  the  Netherlands  might  well  be  replaced 
by  two  black  and  white  Holstein  cows,  for  the 
masses  of  the  people  worship  cows.  Cows  they 
watch  sometimes  with  more  care  than  they  give 
their  own  children;  cows  they  nurse  through 
sickness,  cows  they  save  their  money  to  buy,  and 
of  cows  they  talk  while  awake  and  dream  while 
asleep.  Children  are  brought  up  with  the  parental 
reverence  for  cows,  and  no  member  of  the  human 
family  is  thought  too  good  to  sleep  under  the 
same  roof  with  the  beloved  kine. 

The  traveler  landing  in  Holland  during  spring¬ 
time  will  see  vast  herds  of  fine  cattle  in  every 

[22] 


A  Holland  Dairy 


stretch  of  green  meadows  —  and  stretches  of 
green  meadow  are  everywhere  in  this  flat  and 
almost  treeless  country.  Every  shadeless  field 
is  defined  by  a  deep  stream  of  pure  water  flowing 


between  prim,  flowery  banks,  which  serve,  instead 
of  fences,  to  keep  the  cattle  within  bounds. 

A  grotescpie  sight  to  people  from  countries 
where  cows  are  not  of  the  first  importance  is 
the  spectacle  of  the  most  delicate  and  valuable 
cows  enveloped  in  canvas  coverings.  The  costly 

[23] 


Northern  Europe 


creatures,  lately  freed  from  their  warm  winter 
stables,  are  apt  to  take  cold  from  the  inclemencies 
of  the  early  spring,  hence  their  blankets  are  not 
removed  until  the  weather  becomes  safely  warm. 

The  cattle  remain  under  the  blue  vault  of 

heaven  day  and 
night  from  the  first 
of  May  until  the 
first  of  November. 
Then  they  are 
taken  into  the  cow 
houses  to  remain 
through  the  cold 
Holland  winter. 
During  the  summer 
the  cows  are  milked 
twice  a  day  in  the 
fields. 

The  busy  Dutch  farmer  does  not  usually  care 
to  give  any  of  his  time  to  curiosity  seekers,  and 
it  is  not  always  easy  for  the  stranger  to  gain 
admission  to  his  household ;  but  we  secured  a 
letter  to  a  farmer  near  Broek,  in  North  Holland, 
which  admitted  us  to  his  cow  house,  and  to  his 
residence  at  the  same  time.  Both  were  under 

[24] 


A  Holland  Dairy 


one  roof.  Cow  stable  and  parlor  adjoined,  and 
one  was  quite  as  clean  as  the  other. 

We  were  conducted  to  the  stable  first,  which 
in  reality  was  a  wide  hall,  with  a  strip  of  oilcloth 
down  the  center.  Rows  of  tiny  square  windows, 
high  up  on  both  sides,  were  curtained  with  spot¬ 
less  lace  or  thin  white  net,  tied  back  with  ribbons. 
Pots  of  blooming  flowers  were  set  on  the  sills  of 
the  windows  looking  south. 

Beneath  each  curtained  window  was  a  cow  stall 
—  there  were  twenty-six  in  all,  such  luxurious 
and  dainty  little  places !  On  the  floors,  which 
were  of  porcelain,  a  thick  layer  of  clean  white 
sawdust  had  been  placed,  and  this  was  stamped 
into  patterns  of  stars  and  wheels  and  circles,  and 
various  geometrical  designs. 

Of  course  the  return  of  the  cows  from  the 
fields  to  their  winter  quarters  breaks  these  pretty 
sawdust  designs  into  a  confused  mass,  but  during 
the  summer  they  are  carefully  preserved. 

Before  and  behind  each  row  of  stalls  runs  a 
trough  of  clear  water,  the  first  for  the  cows  to 
drink  from,  the  second  to  wash  away  all  impuri¬ 
ties.  In  the  ceiling  behind  every  stall  is  fixed 
a  kind  of  iron  hook,  the  strange  and  ludicrous 

C25  ] 


Northern  Europe 


office  of  which  is  to  hold  high  in  the  air  the 
cow’s  tail,  that  she  may  not  disarrange  that  care¬ 
fully  combed  member ! 

One  wonders  that  the  cows’  tails,  after  many 
generations  of  this  tying-up  process,  do  not  grow 
straight  up.  One  extravagant  book  of  travel 
tried  to  make  us  believe  that  the  tails  are  often 
tied  with  blue  ribbons,  but  this  we  found  to  be 
an  exaggeration. 

It  is  not,  however,  an  exaggeration  to  say  that 
the  cattle,  every  day  during  the  winter,  are  washed 
off  with  warm  soapsuds,  dried,  rubbed,  combed, 
coddled  and  talked  to,  as  if  they  were  children ; 
that  the  air  of  their  stable  is  as  pure  as  the  atmos¬ 
phere  outside,  and  that  no  pains  are  spared  to 
keep  them  healthy  and  comfortable. 

Under  such  kind  treatment  they  become  plump, 
glossy,  and  gentle  animals,  that  repay  their  owners 
by  an  enormous  quantity  of  milk. 

Leading  us  from  the  cow  stable  into  an 
adjoining  apartment,  the  farmer’s  wife  showed 
us  long  rows  of  cheese  presses  containing  round, 
firm  Edam  cheeses,  which  would  be  ready  to 
remove  from  their  molds  after  thirty-six  hours 
of  pressure. 


[26] 


A  Holland  Dairy 


Every  press,  every  bowl,  every  churn,  every 
linen  cloth,  every  pot  and  pan  used  in  the  making 
of  this  cheese  spoke  of  the  utmost  cleanliness, 
and  told  of  hours  of  washing  and  scrubbing  and 
rubbing. 

“  Clean  !  clean  !  clean  !  ”  we  repeated  again  and 
again,  and  the  rosy  little  farmer’s  wife  smiled 
with  pleasure.  “Clean”  was  evidently  the  one 
English  word  that  she  could  understand. 

She  invited  us  into  the  living  room  just  in 
front  of  the  cows’  apartment,  and  offered  us  milk. 
As  we  drank  we  looked  around  the  room  and 
sniffed  the  air  suspiciously ;  but,  although  the 
stable  was  adjoining,  not  the  slightest  odor  of 
cows  could  we  detect  in  that  clean  little  place. 

The  one  elegant  piece  of  furniture  here  was  a 
tall  carved  Dutch  chest.  Our  hostess  opened  the 
doors  of  this  and  displayed  piles  of  white  linen 
therein,  enough  to  stock  a  shop.  Opening  another 
door,  which  we  had  supposed  led  into  another 
room,  we  saw  it  was  simply  the  door  to  the  bed, 
which  was  just  a  shelf  in  the  wall  piled  high  with 
feathers  and  linen.  Whether  the  Hollanders  shut 
themselves  in  entirely  in  these  curious  beds,  or 
leave  the  door  ajar  while  asleep,  I  could  not  learn. 

[ 2  7  ] 


Northern  Europe 


“  Perhaps  they  are  the  cows’  beds,”  suggested 
a  giddy  one  of  our  number.  “  Ask  her !  ” 

The  little  smiling  woman  shook  her  head  in 
reply  to  the  question,  though  after  what  we  had 
just  seen  we  should  hardly  have  been  surprised 
if  she  had  told  us  that  on  cold  winter  nights  the 
cows  curl  themselves  in  these  downy  niches  in 
the  walls. 

The  wooden  pattens  of  the  farmer  who  had 
brought  us  here  in  his  calash  were  now  clattering 
on  the  stones  outside,  and  we  knew  that  it  was 
time  for  us  to  leave  this  “  cows’  castle.”  With 
the  pleasant  lowing  of  fine  Holsteins  in  our  ears, 
we  drove  across  the  green  fields  and  into  the 
road  which  led  to  the  canal  boat  that  was  to  take 
us  away. 

How  broad  and  round  was  our  host,  the  rich 
owner  of  herds  of  fine  cows!  In  his  black  cap, 
blue  blouse,  and  white  wooden  pattens,  what  an 
ideal  type  of  a  Dutch  farmer! 

I  shall  never  forget  the  gratified  smile  he  gave 
us  when  we  praised  his  splendid  cattle,  and 
told  him  that  nowhere  in  the  world,  outside  of 
Holland,  could  we  have  seen  their  equal. 

Eleanor  H.  Patterson. 

[28] 


A  DUTCH  MARKET  PLACE 


The  Gvoote  Markt  of  Rotterdam  is  really  a 
little  affair,  but  it  is  very  interesting,  nevertheless, 
to  an  American. 

In  the  middle  of  a  great  square,  which  is  built 
entirely  on  huge  vaults  over  the  canals,  is  a 
grove  of  low  trees.  Among  these  are  canvas 
booths  and  hundreds  of  queer  little  carts,  each 
with  its  load  of  fruit  or  vegetables. 

From  every  direction  narrow  streets  lead  into 
it  —  so  narrow  that  only  handcarts  and  dogcarts 
can  pass  each  other,  and  these  are  frequently 
tipped  into  cellars  or  upon  doorsteps  in  the  effort. 
On  each  side  rise  the  red-tiled  houses,  blue,  white, 
red,  yellow,  leaning  toward  each  other  in  a  friendly 
way  over  the  alley  below,  so  that  the  good  house¬ 
wives  may  gossip  over  their  everlasting  house 
cleaning  from  one  side  to  the  other. 

Beyond  the  square,  towers  the  cathedral,  its 
bells  chiming  the  hours  and  occasionally  playing 
popular  airs.  Nearer  is  the  bronze  statue  of  the 

[^9] 


Northern  Europe 


great  Erasmus,  who  was  born  in  Rotterdam.  .  But 
one  scarcely  notices  these  works  of  art  as  he 
enters  the  square.  His  whole  attention  is  caught 
by  the  unusual  bustle  and  color  among  the  trees. 

At  first  glance  it  seems  as  if  all  the  Dutch 
gardens  in  the  neighborhood  had  emptied  their 
produce  in  one  great  confused  pile.  Tiny  beans 
and  beans  as  large  as  locust  pods ;  little  cucum¬ 
bers  that  must  be  carried  in  measures  lest  they 
slip  through  the  wickerwork  baskets,  and  cucum¬ 
bers  long  as  a  man’s  arm,  and  much  more  crooked ; 
cabbages,  melons,  lettuce,  celery,  beautiful  grapes 
and  fruits  of  every  color,  flanked  by  tender  water 
cresses  —  all  are  jumbled  together  as  if  nobody 
owned  them.  But  as  you  push  your  way  into 
the  great  heap  you  find  little  paths  separating  it 
into  many  bundles.  Each  bundle  has  a  watchful 
little  dog  to  look  after  its  borders,  and  a  bright¬ 
eyed  little  woman  in  her  wooden  shoes  and  short 
skirts,  to  drop  her  knitting  and  ask  quickly : 
“Wat  wil  Mynheer?” 

Every  moment  new  carts  are  arriving,  piled 
high  with  fresh  vegetables,  with  the  owners  push¬ 
ing  sturdily  in  the  shafts,  and  muzzled  dogs  tug¬ 
ging  bravely  in  harness  underneath. 

[30] 


A  Dutch  Market  Place 


It  is  a  curious  law  in  Rotterdam  that  all  dogs 
in  harness  must  be  muzzled ;  though  the  faithful 


The  Groote  Markt 


hundreds  of  dogs  run  loose  without  muzzles  all 
)ver  the  city. 

[30 


Northern  Europe 


Thinking  at  first  that  the  labor  might  tend  to 
spoil  their  temper,  I  petted  several  of  the  draught 
dogs,  but  found  them  all  very  gentle  and  appre¬ 
ciative.  Then  a  farmer  who  had  stopped  to  rest 
by  his  cart  of  cabbages  told  me  of  the  curious 
law,  in  broken  Dutch  and  English. 

All  sorts  of  dogs,  big  and  little,  are  used  in 
this  vegetable  market.  Curiously  enough  the 
smallest  dogs  always  seem  to  have  the  biggest 
muzzles,  which  gives  them  a  very  whimsical 
expression.  When  I  stopped  to  pet  one,  as  he 
lay  under  his  cart,  he  turned  his  head  and  rolled 
his  eyes  comically  as  if  he  were  saying,  “  See 
what  a  big  muzzle  they  have  put  me  into.  I 'd 
crawl  through  it  and  get  out  of  this  if  I  dared.” 

Though  I  have  watched  a  great  many  of  these 
draught  dogs  with  interest,  I  have  never  seen  one 
shirking  his  work.  The  moment  the  master  puts 
his  hands  on  the  shafts,  the  straining  haunches 
beneath  show  the  effort  the  dog  is  making  to 
do  his  part.  The  moment  the  shafts  are  dropped 
the  dog  throws  himself  down  to  rest.  In  this  he 
has  an  immense  advantage  over  a  horse  ;  his  small 
size  and  superior  intelligence  also  make  him  a 
useful  draught  animal  for  small  loads. 

[30 


A  Dutch  Market  Place 


Often  the  fruit  is  brought  in  on  simple  dog¬ 
carts,  in  which  dogs  do  all  the  work  and  a  boy 
walks  behind  to  direct  progress.  Sometimes  three 
or  even  four  dogs  are  harnessed  abreast,  and  the 
load  they  draw  is  astonishing. 

Once  I  watched  a  single  dog  drawing  a  cart 
in  which  were  ten  large  baskets  of  water  cresses. 
While  his  master  sauntered  about  after  customers 
the  dog  lay  down  to  rest ;  but  a  short  whistle 
brought  him  instantly  to  his  feet,  and  he  threaded 
his  way  carefully  among  carts  and  vegetables  to 
where  he  was  wanted.  Like  all  his  companion 
dogs  he  seemed  to  enjoy  his  work  thoroughly, 
and  had  much  the  same  air  that  we  are  accus¬ 
tomed  to  see  in  a  setter  or  collie  when  he  is 
carrying  his  master’s  cane. 

Next  to  the  dogs  at  the  Groote  Markt  the 
horses  were  noticeable.  Large,  gentle,  intelli¬ 
gent  creatures  they  were,  which  came  in  over 
the  wider  streets  with  huge  trucks  of  green 
behind  them..  Many  of  them  had  “  crimpy  ” 
manes  hiding  their  soft  eyes,  showing  that 
Mynheer  or  Mevromv  had  carefully  done  them 
up  in  curl  papers  the  night  before,  to  make  a  fine 
appearance  on  market  day.  When  their  loads 

[33] 


Northern  Europe 


were  removed  they  wandered  at  will  on  the  out¬ 
skirts,  looking  into  empty  baskets  for  stray  wisps 
of  hay  or  green  leaves,  and  carefully  avoiding,  as 
if  forbidden,  the  piles  of  tempting  apples  and 
vegetables,  the  owners  of  which  were  often  far 
away  in  search  of  bargains. 

The  English  or  European  sparrows  are  every¬ 
where:  the  same  noisy,  pugnacious  little  rascals 
we  have  grown  sadly  accustomed  to  at  home, 
but  much  more  tame,  and  with  an  air  of  proprie¬ 
torship  gained  from  long  centuries  of  civiliza¬ 
tion.  Occasionally  a  flock  of  hens  would  appear 
unexpectedly  from  the  fine  doorway  of  a  house, 
—  this  in  the  very  heart  of  a  large  city,  —  and 
come  running  across  the  square  to  drive  the 
sparrows  from  choice  pickings  among  the  fruit 
stands. 

Here  in  the  market  is  the  only  place  in  the 
city  where  one  is  sure  to  see  unchanged  the  old 
Dutch  costumes  of  the  peasantry,  —  wooden 
shoes,  bag  trousers,  blouses,  and  caps  among  the 
men ;  short  balloon  skirts,  bright  party-colored 
waists,  and  huge  bonnets  with  stiff  lace  fringes 
and  immense  gilded  ornaments  among  the 


women. 


[34] 


A  Dutch  Market  Place 


Once,  as  a  woman  passed  dressed  in  the  prim 
black  and  white  Puritan  costume  of  two  cen¬ 
turies  ago,  I  noticed  with  amazement  two  large 
spirals  of  gold  wire,  one  on  each  temple.  They 
were  cone  shaped,  about  five  inches  long  and 
three  in  diameter  at  the  base,  and  behind  each 
a  thin  square  of  yellow  metal  stuck  out  like  a 
donkey’s  ear. 

A  peculiarity  of  this  market  is  the  entire  lack 
of  hurry  and  confusion.  There  is  no  shouting 
of  venders,  no  noise,  no  apparent  concern  to  sell. 
Mevrouw s  whole  attitude  seems  to  say:  “These 
are  good  vegetables ;  if  we  don’t  sell,  we  can  eat.” 
If  a  bunch  of  luscious  brown  grapes  makes  your 
mouth  to  water  and  your  hand  to  go  down  in 
your  pocket,  only  the  little  dog  seems  to  under¬ 
stand,  and  sometimes  he  goes  off  to  bring  the 
owner.  If  not,  you  must  wait. 

Another  peculiarity  is  the  honesty.  At  least 
it  seems  so  to  strange  eyes.  The  fruit  and  vege¬ 
tables  are  excellent;  and  in  a  forenoon’s  watch¬ 
ing  I  could  see  no  effort  to  take  advantage  or 
to  drive  a  bargain.  Once  a  crowd  of  boys  and 
men  were  hunting  diligently  a  long  time  for 
some  lost  object,  which  they  did  n’t  find.  When 

[35] 


Northern  Europe 


most  of  them  had  gone  away,  I  strolled  over,  and 
by  chance  noticed  a  tiny  silver  piece  under  the 
edge  of  a  paving  stone.  When  I  picked  it  up 
there  was  no  effort  among  the  dozen  boys  who 
were  still  left  to  claim  the  money ;  but  five  or  six 
ran  away  and  came  back  in  a  few  minutes  with 
the  little  woman  who  had  lost  it. 

Close  to  the  Groote  Markt  are  many  canals 
where  the  red  and  blue  boats  lie,  their  beautiful 
brown  sails  close  furled,  their  decks  piled  high 
with  the  freshest  and  greenest  vegetables  from 
the  low  farms  behind  the  dikes  on  the  Maas. 
From  these  the  supply  at  the  market  is  replen¬ 
ished.  Whole  families  live  aboard  of  them  for 
weeks  at  a  time.  Each  has  its  little  dog,  who 
takes  it  upon  himself  to  look  after  everything, 
including  the  babies  and  children,  who  roll  about 
the  deck  and  who  never  seem  to  fall  overboard, 
though  there  are  no  bulwarks  to  prevent. 

Beyond  the  vegetable  boats  are  queer  little 
fishing  boats,  shaped  like  a  dugout,  fishing  to 
supply  the  little  stands  about  the  Groote  Markt. 
When  Mevrouw  comes  out  to  buy  a  sole  for 
dinner,  and  questions  its  freshness,  the  little  man 
runs  to  the  canal,  yodels,  and  waves  his  hand. 

[36] 


A  Dutch  Market  Place 


His  partner  in  the  boat  gives  a  heave  at  his 
net,  seizes  the  fish  it  contains,  and  poles  ashore. 
Then  Mevrouw  is  satisfied  as  to  its  freshness, 
having  seen  it,  with  her  own  bright  eyes,  caught, 
killed,  and  dressed  on  the  spot. 

Though  the  scene  is  quiet  to  American  eyes, 
it  changes  continually  with  ever-fresh  interest,  if 
one  stops  to  watch  it.  Now  a  funny  little  baby 
carriage  trundles  by,  a  basket  of  peeled  potatoes 
in  front,  and  baby  contentedly  munching  at  the 
raw  “  earth  apples,”  as  they  are  called  in  Dutch. 

Now  Mevrouw  comes  to  buy  one  little  cabbage, 
and  brings  for  it  a  big  wicker  basket;  now  Myn¬ 
heer  comes  for  a  large  measure  of  cucumbers,  and 
carries  them  away  in  the  huge  pockets  of  his 
pantaloons  ;  now  a  small  waiter  boy,  a  little  bit 
of  a  fellow,  looking  very  queer  in  a  full  dress 
suit,  with  claw-hammer  coat  and  wide  shirt  front, 
comes  running  across  the  square  to  please  some 
fastidious  customer,  and  carries  his  purchase  in 
his  hands,  for  paper  and  string  are  scarce  in  this 
market. 

Boys  are  everywhere,  getting  fun  out  of  every¬ 
thing,  and,  like  American  boys,  eating  every¬ 
thing  eatable,  from  pickled  herring  to  raw 

[37] 


Northern  Europe 


cabbage  stumps ;  and  above  the  whole  busy,  shift¬ 
ing  scene  towers  the  statue  of  the  great  scholar, 
Erasmus.  His  eyes  are  fixed  on  the  open  book 
he  holds;  his  whole  attitude  is  one  of  intense 
absorption ;  yet  his  right  hand 
is  half  raised,  as  if  the  power  of 
the  words  he  reads  were  swaying 
him  unconsciously  to  proclaim 
the  truth  to  those  who  know 
it  not. 

So  it  is  always 
in  life.  Nothing 
could  seem 
farther  from  the 
bustle  of  the 
market  place 
than  the  absorp- 
t i o  n  of  the 
scholar’s  study ; 
yet  each. ministers  to  the  other.  Jans  toils  in  the 
fields  behind  the  dikes;  Erasmus,  by  dim  candle¬ 
light,  pores  over  the  mysteries  of  law  and  life ; 
and  the  work  of  each  is  completed  by  sharing 
with  the  other. 


[38] 


SCENES  IN  BELGIUM 


Belgium  is  a  small,  but  a  thrifty  and  beautiful 
country,  and  the  Belgians  are  very  proud  of  it. 
Their  interests 
are  centered  in  it 
and  rarely  extend 
to  matters  out¬ 
side  the  king¬ 
dom.  It  is  true 
that  many  for¬ 
eigners  make  their  home  here,  but  they  do  not 
find  it  easy  to  become  acquainted  with  the  natives 
of  the  country. 

The  Belgians  are  chiefly  composed  of  two 
races, — the  Flemish,  who  are  originally  of  Ger¬ 
manic  descent,  and  the  Walloons,  descendants 
of  the  Gauls.  They  have  each  a  language  of 
their  own,  in  which  they  speak  to  their  family 
and  friends;  but  they  also  speak  and  understand 
French,  which  is  the  language  of  the  country. 
In  all  official  business  French  only  is  used. 

[39] 


Northern  Europe 


The  public  schools  are  free,  and  children  are 
sent  to  them  when  very  young.  They  have  to 
obey  strict  rules  and  are  dutiful  to  their  teachers.  ! 

They  learn  first  about  their  own  country, 
drawing  maps  of  great  detail  of  the  different 
parts  of  it  so  as  to  get  thoroughly  familiar  with 
its  geography.  They  learn  the  history  of  Bel¬ 
gium  thoroughly,  and  an  interesting  study  it  is 
—  not  to  them  alone,  but  to  everybody,  because 
the  Belgian  provinces  have  been  the  object  of  j 
many  wars,  belonging  at  different  times  to 
France,  Holland,  Spain,  and  Austria. 

Everything  pertaining  to  their  own  country  is 
carefully  taught,  but  what  lies  beyond  does  not 
interest  them  much.  The  rest  of  the  world  is 
nothing  to  them,  and  they  know  little  about  it.  , 
Once  a  year  prizes  are  distributed  in  schools  for  I 
the  best  worker —  the  one  who  has  tried  hardest  to 
do  well.  On  that  day  you  see  the  children  dressed 
in  their  best  on  their  way  to  school.  Many  carry 
or  wear  flowers ;  all  are  eager  to  obtain  the  prize. 

Thursday  afternoon  is  always  a  half  holiday,  1 
on  which  comrades  spend  a  happy  time  together 
in  the  woods  if  it  is  summer,  or  skating  or 
making  snow  statuary  in  the  winter. 

[40] 


Scenes  in  Belgium 

On  a  fine  day  you  may  see  class  after  class  of 
merry  children  clattering  along  two  by  two  in 
their  sabots  (wooden  shoes),  led  by  a  teacher 
to  some  park  or  playground  to  play  and  romp 
for  an  hour  or  so.  The  teacher  either  joins  in 


the  games,  or  at  any  rate  stays  to  watch  that  no 
harm  is  done,  and  on  a  signal  the  children  obe¬ 
diently  group  themselves  as  they  came  and  return 
to  school. 

Little  girls  have  always  to  wear  black  pina¬ 
fores  at  school  to  keep  their  dresses  from  getting 
bespattered  with  ink,  and  to  make  them,  while 

[40 


Northern  Europe 


at  school,  look  alike.  It  is  a  kind  of  uniform 
that  all  wear,  so  that  none  shall  outshine  the 
others  by  finer  dresses,  and  also  to  prevent  their 
thoughts  from  wandering  from  their  lessons  to 
their  clothes.  For  the  same  reason,  perhaps,  the 
black  dress  is  chosen  for  universal  wear  for 
young  ladies  in  some  boarding  schools. 

Sunday  is  the  great  day  for  amusement  here, 
as  in  all  European  countries.  The  streets,  parks, 
and  woods  are  crowded  on  that  day.  Every  one 
has  been  busy  during  the  week ;  so  on  Sunday, 
after  having  attended  church,  which  they  do  regu¬ 
larly,  all  the  family  turn  out,  often  taking  their 
food  with  them  to  the  woods  and  spending  the 
remainder  of  the  day  in  the  open  air. 

The  summer  time  is  perhaps  the  happiest  time 
for  children  as  well  as  for  the  grown  folks,  because 
it  brings  the  “  kirmess,”  a  kind  of  Flemish  fair 
which  is  held  at  different  times  throughout  the 
country. 

On  some  open  place  in  city  or  village  quite  a 
little  town  of  booths  and  tents  is  erected.  There  | 
you  find  merry-go-rounds,  Russian  slides,  roller 
coasts,  menageries,  wonderful  exhibitions  of  all 
sorts  of  curious  things  and  animals. 

[42] 


Scenes  in  Belgium 

The  crowd  of  eager  people  is  immense  every 
day;  and  many  save  up  all  their  spare  money  for 
a  whole  year  in  order  to  spend  it  at  the  kirmess. 
They  enjoy  themselves  far  better  there  than  at  a 
more  costly  entertainment;  in  fact,  the  great  suc¬ 
cess  of  the  fair  is  due  to  the  low  price  asked  for 
the  different  shows.  It  is  indeed  a  true  people’s 
festival,  and  it  is  pleasant  to  see  their  thorough 
enjoyment. 

With  such  simple,  childlike  amusements  young 
and  old  are  satisfied.  The  father  goes  with  his 
family  to  join  in  the  pleasure.  He  may  not  have 
the  restless  activity  of  the  American,  but  he  allows 
himself  time  to  enjoy  life  with  his  wife  and  chil¬ 
dren  as  he  goes  along,  and  rests  contented  with  a 
simple  lot. 

One  thing  that  would  seem  strange  to  you  on 
coming  here  would  be  to  see  little  children  beg¬ 
ging  in  the  streets.  Some  are  sent  begging  by 
parents  who  are  too  lazy  to  work,  and  in  such 
cases  a  regular  business  is  made  of  it;  but  there 
are  others  who  beg  even  when  they  do  not  need 
alms.  They  will  run  beside  your  carriage  or  trot 
along  by  your  side,  asking  in  a  woe-begone  voice 
or  “  c ha-rite  !  tin  petit  sou/"  (“charity!  a  little 

[43] 


Northern  Europe 


penny !  ”).  If  you  pay  no  attention  to  them  they 
will,  after  a  while,  stay  behind,  change  manner 
and  tone  completely,  perhaps  make  faces  at  you, 
and  go  on  laughingly  with  their  games. 

If  you  let  your  heart  be 
touched,  —  which  you  are 
sorely  tempted  to  do  by  their 
heartrending  voice  and  en¬ 
treaty,  and  their  dirty,  ragged, 
and  hungry  look,  —  they  will 
as  likely  as 
not  take  the 
money  you 
give  them  to 
the  nearest 
candy  store 
and  spend  it 
in  sweets, 
or  buy  ciga¬ 


rettes  and  make  themselves  sick. 

Politeness  is  one  of  the  pleasing  traits  of  chil¬ 
dren  in  Belgium.  They  are  taught  from  earliest 
childhood  to  be  polite,  and  they  never  forget  it. 
Wherever  you  go,  everybody  is  well-mannered 
and  obliging.  In  shops  one  always  receives  polite 

[44] 


Scenes  in  Belgium 

thanks  and  an  earnest  entreaty  to  come  again,  even 
if  one  has  bought  nothing. 

On  the  roads  in  the  country  the  peasants  always 
wish  you  good  day,  and  the  men  take  off  their 
hats.  When  a  funeral  passes  on  the  street,  every 
man  and  boy  takes  off  his  hat;  this  is  called  sahit 
3  la  mort  (“salute  to  the  dead  ”). 

Children  have  to  make  themselves  useful,  too. 
After  school  hours  they  help  in  the  business,  or 
tend  and  care  for  the  younger  children,  or  work 
in  the  fields.  Frequently  you  see  them  take  the 
i  produce  of  the  farm  to  the  city  in  little  green 
carts  drawn  by  dogs.  Milk  is  brought  every 
morning  in  shining  brass  cans  set  in  straw  in 
the  little  cart,  which  is  painted  bright  green  and 
attended  by  a  girl  in  a  clean  dress,  blue  apron, 
land  wooden  shoes,  with  nothing  01a  her  head, 
winter  or  summer.  The  dog  is  hitched  to  this 
cart  like  a  horse,  with  a  pretty  little  harness 
studded  with  brass  nails. 

I  should  like  to  tell  you  a  great  deal  more  about 
:his  country,  but  that  would  overstep  the  limits 
)f  my  letter. 

E.  H.  Terrell. 


[45] 


A  PEOPLE  ON  STILTS 


The  achievement  of  Sylvain  Dornon,  a  French¬ 
man  of  the  region  known  as  The  Landes,  who 
made  a  journey  on  stilts  from  Paris  to  Moscow 
in  fifty-eight  days,  brought  into  notice  the  very 
considerable  use  which  the  people  of  The  Landes 
make  of  stilts. 

The  Landes  is  that  part  of  France  border¬ 
ing  upon  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  south  and  west  of 
Bordeaux.  Formerly  it  was  almost  wholly  com¬ 
posed  of  flat,  dreary  wastes,  the  surface  of  which 
consisted  mainly  of  shifting  sands,  though  a 
subsoil  of  clay  caused  the  rainfall  to  remain  in 
pools. 

Some  grass  and  bushes  grew  upon  The  Landes, 
and  the  inhabitants  lived  by  pasturing  cattle  and 
sheep. 

To  travel  over  these  half-sandy,  half-watery 
wastes,  the  people  employed  stilts,  and  became 
remarkably  expert  both  in  their  construction  and 
in  their  use. 


[46] 


A  People  on  Stilts 


Northern  Europe 


These  implements  are  called  by  the  people  of 
The  Landes  chanques ,  which  signifies,  in  their 
dialect,  “  long  legs.”  They  are  long  sticks  which  j 
are  provided,  at  a  height  of  about  five  feet,  with  ; 
a  support  or  stirrup  for  the  foot.  The  upper  end 
of  the  stick  is  flattened  at  the  sides,  and  bound  I 
to  the  leg  by  means  of  a  stout  strap. 

At  the  lower  end  the  stick  expands  into  a  j 
sort  of  button,  somewhat  like  the  bulging  end  of  I 
an  Indian  hunting  arrow.  Often  this  is  finished 
off  by  a  bottom  made  of  bone. 

Mounted  upon  these  stilts.  The  Landes  shep-  j 
herd  carries  in  his  hand  a  long  staff,  which  serves  . 
several  uses.  By  means  of  it  he  mounts  to  his  I 
place  on  his  stilts.  He  uses  it  as  a  “crook,”  in  j 
driving  or  guiding  his  sheep.  He  nails  a  small 
board  across  its  end,  and  thrusting  the  lower  end  ; 
into  the  ground  at  the  proper  angle,  sits  comfortably  I 
down  upon  the  board,  still  mounted  on  his  stilts,  j 

Reposing  in  this  fashion,  the  shepherd  appears  \ 
to  be  seated  upon  a  gigantic  three-legged  stool. 
By  the  aid  of  his  apparatus  he  can  rest,  dry-shod 
and  comfortable,  in  the  midst  of  a  large  shallow  i 
pond,  in  a  snow  bank,  or  anywhere  else  where  he 
can  find  footing. 


[48] 


A  People  on  Stilts 


Thus  seated,  the  shepherd  takes  out  his  knit¬ 
ting  work,  which  he  carries  in  his  girdle  while 
walking,  and  busies  himself  at  knitting  while  his 
flocks  graze.  It  is  no  derogation  to  the  dignity 
of  a  man  to  knit,  in  Gascony. 

The  shepherd’s  ordinary  costume  consists  of 
a  sort  of  great  waistcoat, — or  sleeveless  garment 
of  sheepskin,  which  hangs  almost  to  his  feet, — 
trousers,  cloth  gaiters,  a  knitted  cap  or  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat. 

Generally  he  carries  a  gun  strapped  upon  his 
back,  with  which  to  defend  his  flocks  from  the 
attacks  of  wolves.  Sometimes  he  carries  also  a 
little  stove,  upon  which  to  cook  his  food. 

Mounted  on  their  stilts,  the  shepherds  of  The 
Landes  drive  their  flocks  and  herds  across  the 
t  country,  marching  through  the  thickets,  straight 
over  puddles  of  water,  and  crossing  marshes  with¬ 
out  taking  the  trouble  to  look  for  paths.  Their 
elevation,  moreover,  enables  them  to  overlook 
easily  their  large  flocks,  which  are  often  scattered 
over  a  wide  extent  of  country. 

The  mounting  of  the  stilts  is  usually  accom¬ 
plished  in  the  morning  once  for  all,  from  a  ladder 
placed  against  the  house,  or  from  some  other 

[49] 


Northern  Europe 


elevation.  However,  the  stilt  walker  is  able  to 
get  upon  his  stilts  at  any  time,  and  from  the  level 
ground,  by  the  aid  of  his  staff. 

The  men  of  The  Landes  acquire  great  skill  in 
the  use  of  stilts.  They  fall  very  rarely  and  are 
able  to  stand  still  without  support,  to  run  with 
great  swiftness,  and  even  to  pick  up  a  stone  or  a 
flower  from  the  ground  without  getting  down. 
They  can  hop  upon  one  foot,  and  occasionally 
they  frighten  strangers  by  appearing  to  fall  to 
the  ground,  saving  themselves  by  a  quick  move¬ 
ment  before  they  strike  the  earth. 

The  speed  with  which  they  travel  is  quite 
remarkable.  In  1808,  when  the  Empress  Jose¬ 
phine  made  a  visit  to  Bayonne,  the  municipality 
sent  to  meet  her  an  escort  of  young  stilt  walkers 
of  The  Landes.  On  the  return  they  followed  the 
carriages;  and  though  the  horses  attached  to  the 
imperial  conveyances  were  driven  at  a  rapid  trot, 
the  stilt  walkers  were  able  to  keep  up  with  them 
for  the  entire  distance. 

During  the  empress’s  sojourn  at  the  town,  the 
shepherds,  on  their  stilts,  afforded  the  ladies  of 
the  court  a  great  deal  of  amusement  by  their 
feats  of  agility.  They  ran  races  and  picked  up 

[S°] 


A  People  on  Stilts 


pieces  of  money  thrown  to  them,  rushing  together 
in  a  mass  as  they  did  so  and  getting  many  falls, 
which  they  did  not  seem  to  mind  in  the  least. 

At  the  present  day  there  are  few  fairs  or  cele¬ 
brations  in  the  villages  of  Gascony  without  stilt 
races.  A  prize,  generally  consisting  of  a  gun,  a 
sheep,  or  a  fine  fowl,  is  given  to  the  winner. 

The  Landes  shepherds  are  not  only  able  to 
perform  feats  of  agility  on  their  stilts,  but  can 
travel  long  distances  without  great  fatigue.  The 
illustration  shows  Dornon  on  his  march  from 
Paris'  to  St.  Petersburg.  It  is  taken  from  the 
French  journal  La  Nature ,  which  had  a  long 
article  on  The  Landes  stilt  walkers. 

Formerly,  on  market  days  in  Bordeaux  or 
Bayonne,  long  processions  of  peasants  on  stilts 
were  to  be  seen  entering  the  town,  often  bearing 
heavy  bags  and  baskets  laden  with  farm  products 
for  sale.  These  men  had  come  from  villages  ten, 
fifteen,  or  even  twenty  leagues  away,  and  must 
return  the  same  distance  on  their  stilts  after 
the  day’s  marketing  was  over. 

Within  recent  years  the  face  of  The  Landes 
and  the  habits  of  the  people  have  greatly  changed. 
Systematic  tree  planting  has  held  the  shifting 

[  5 1  ] 


Northern  Europe 


sands  of  the  barrens  and  transformed  a  vast 
extent  of  country  from  grazing  to  agricultural 
and  vine-growing  land.  Wastes  which  were 
totally  uninhabited  before  are  now  the  sites  of 
prosperous  farms  and  villages. 

All  this  has  been  of  great  benefit  to  the  people 
of  The  Landes,  but  it  has  rendered  stilt  walking 
much  less  common  because  less  necessary  than 
before.  Instead  of  going  to  market  on  stilts,  the 
people  go  in  wagons  or  on  a  railroad  train,  and 
a  man  walking  on  stilts  is  now  almost  as  rare  a 
sight  in  the  streets  of  Bordeaux  as  in  those  of 
Paris  or  New  York.  In  the  country  districts, 
however,  many  of  the  people  still  cling  to  stilt 
locomotion. 


Jean  Bertrand. 


THE  EIFFEL  TOWER 


Classic  history  records  the  fate  of  the  giants 
who  attempted  to  scale  the  heights  of  the  empy¬ 
rean  by  piling  Mount  Ossa  upon  Mount  Pelion. 
Sacred  history,  too,  recounts  the  discomfiture  of 
the  builders  of  the  Tower  of  Babel. 

Unterrified  by  these  tales,  that  bold  French¬ 
man,  M.  Gustave  Eiffel,  had  the  hardihood  to 
plan  an  iron  tower,  three  hundred  meters  —  nine 
hundred  and  eighty-four  feet  —  in  height,  and 
succeeded  in  building  it,  quite  without  accident 
and  to  the  immense  satisfaction  and  pride  of  the 
French  people. 

Of  all  obelisks  and  spires  now  standing,  the 
Eiffel  is  easily  chief,  surpassing  by  more  than  five 
hundred  feet  the  height  of  the  great  pyramid  of 
Egypt. 

If  the  Washington  monument  at  our  own 
national  capital  were  to  have  placed  upon  its 
summit  the  Bunker  Hill  shaft,  and  still  above 
this  the  lofty  Baltimore  monument  were  to  be 

[  53  ] 


( 


Northern  Europe 


- 


superadded,  the 
combined  heights 
of  all  three  would 
yet  fall  short 
fifty  feet  of 
the  stately 
campanile 
of  the  Eif- 
fel  tower, 
over  which 
the  great 
electric 
candle  now 
nightly 
sends  forth 
its  far-reach- 
beam. 


None  of  the  lofty  cathedral 
towers  of  mediaeval  architecture 
are  half  so  high  as  this  structure. 


ny 


[54] 


The  Eiffel  Tower 


The  tower  is  of  iron,  resting  upon  stone  founda¬ 
tions,  sunk  to  the  depth  of  forty-five  feet  on  the 
side  next  to  the  river,  and  twenty-five  feet  on  the 
land  side.  More  than  seven  thousand  tons  of 
iron  were  used  in  the  mazy  network  of  girders, 
beams,  rods,  braces,  and  rivets  of  the  super¬ 
structure. 

The  four  enormous  arches,  which  spring  from 
corner  to  corner  of  the  foundation  pillars,  span 
an  area  of  fully  two  acres  of  ground,  —  a  space 
where  one  may  walk  about  and  never  think  of  the 
great  tower  overhead,  unless  he  chances  to  glance 
upward. 

But  these  facts  and  figures,  which  have  often 
been  repeated,  convey  but  a  meager  picture  of  the 
real  aspect  and  grandeur  of  the  great  tower  itself. 

Unlike  most  of  the  celebrated  obelisks  and 
towers,  the  Eiffel  is  designed  to  be  something 
more  than  a  mere  monument.  Aside  from  its 
scientific  uses,  its  purpose  is  recreation  and 
pleasure  rather  than  commemoration.  In  further¬ 
ance  of  this  design,  three  platforms,  or  stages,  have 
been  constructed  within  it,  one  above  another,  to 
all  of  which  the  public  are  admitted  upon  pay¬ 
ment  of  a  moderate  fee. 

[55] 


Northern  Europe 


The  first  platform,  or  stage,  is  placed  directly 
above  the  four  great  iron  arches  which  unite  the 
corner  pillars,  and  at  a  height  of  two  hundred  and 
twenty-five  feet,  —  about  that  of  the  Bunker  Hill 
monument.  Two  powerful  elevators,  each  capable 
of  containing  fifty  persons,  carry  up  visitors.  Any 
one  may  climb  up  by  a  winding  staircase,  but  the 
fee  must  be  paid  whether  one  climbs  or  rides. 

Reaching  the  floor  of  the  first  stage,  one  finds 
himself  in  the  midst  of  a  pretty  village  of  restau¬ 
rants  and  shops,  and  may  forget,  for  the  time 
being,  that  he  is  so  far  above  the  earth’s  surface. 
It  is  only  when  he  chances  to  emerge  upon  the 
long  galleries,  on  the  outer  sides  of  the  stage, 
which  command  a  view  of  the  city,  that  he  fully 
realizes  his  exalted  situation. 

Some  idea  of  the  size  and  extent  of  this  stage 
may  be  obtained  when  the  fact  is  stated  that  the 
restaurants  and  cafes  here  will  accommodate  one 
thousand  six  hundred  persons  at  one  time,  and 
that  six  thousand  people  may  be  present  upon  it, 
and  move  about  without  being  too  much  crowded. 
It  is  estimated,  indeed,  that  ten  thousand  people 
may  be  on  the  various  stages  and  stairways  of  the 
tower  at  the  same  time. 

[56] 


The  Eiffel  l  ower 


The  second  stage,  or  platform,  is  placed  one 
hundred  and  seventy-five  feet  higher  in  the  tower, 
or  nearly  four  hundred  feet  from  the  earth.  At 
this  height  the  visitor  is  free  from  the  dust  and 
heat  of  the  summer  day  beneath,  and  can,  if  he 
chooses,  hire  an  opera  glass  and  view  all  Paris  at 
his  leisure. 

Like  a  shining  ribbon,  winding  through  the 
city,  flows  the  Seine,  speckled  with  steamers  and 
spanned  by  half  a  score  of  broad  stone  bridges. 
Just  across  it,  on  the  high  ground  to  the  north¬ 
west,  rises  the  great  Trocadero  Palace,  with  its 
lofty  towers,  immensely  long  wings,  and  superb 
grounds. 

Beyond  stretches  away  the  great  green  park  of 
the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  while  a  little  farther  around 
to  the  right,  and  nearer,  is  the  grand  Arc  de 
Triomphe,  which  commemorates  the  victories  of 
the  French  nation  over  foreign  enemies. 

Still  farther  around  to  the  north  and  east, 
and  near  the  Seine,  is  the  Place  de  la  Concorde, 
the  scene  of  so  many  stirring  and  often  terrible 
events  in  the  annals  of  Paris.  In  the  same 
direction,  but  beyond,  are  visible  the  classic  roof 
and  columns  of  the  church  of  the  Madeleine, 

[57] 


Northern  Europe 


in  the  architectural  style  of  the  Athenian  Parthe¬ 
non,  also  the  new  Grand  Opera  and  the  top  of 
the  Column  Vendome,  the  latter  cast  from  Ausrl 
trian  cannon,  captured  mainly  at  Austerlitz  by 
Napoleon  I. 

Farther  along  the  Seine  to  the  east  are  the  j 
gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  the  famous  Fine  Arts  1 
Museum  of  the  Louvre,  Notre  Dame  cathedral, 
the  Hotel  de  Ville,  Tour  St.  Jacques,  and  the  1 
French  Institute. 

Almost  in  line  from  the  corner  of  the  south  'i 
pillar  of  the  Eiffel  are  the  palace  and  the  gar-  j 
dens  of  the  Luxembourg,  also  the  Pantheon  and  \ 
St.  Sulpice  church ;  while  nearer  at  hand,  directly  I 
beneath  the  eye,  glows  the  richly  gilded  dome  of  1 
the  Invalides,  beneath  which  Napoleon  I  and  his  I 
three  brothers  lie  buried  in  regal  magnificence. 

A  hydraulic  lift  carries  visitors  up  from  the  I 
second  to  the  third  and  highest  stage,  a  distance  j 
of  almost  five  hundred  feet.  One  is  apt  to  expe¬ 
rience  a  humming  of  the  ears,  and  perhaps  feel 
sudden,  sharp  pains  in  the  head,  both  in  ascend-  I 
ing  and  descending.  We  are  now  nine  hundred 
feet  from  the  earth,  and  the  city  is  spread  out 
around  us. 


[58] 


The  Eiffel  Tower 


Paris,  from  Mont  Valerien  to  Montmartre, 
looks  like  a  map  at  our  feet,  and  far  out  beyond 
the  city  limits,  fertile,  green  France  can  be  seen 
—  if  the  day  be  clear  —  stretching  away  to  the 
shining  sea  on  the  far-off  horizon. 

Persons  subject  to  vertigo  are  apt  to  be  unpleas¬ 
antly  affected  by  the  ascent,  or  by  the  first  look 
around  from  this  lofty  stage.  After  a  single 
glance,  some  wish  to  descend  at  once.  Although 
curiosity  may  incite  thousands  to  make  the  ascent, 
it  is  safe  to  say  that  there  are  few  who  will  not 
draw  a  long  breath  of  relief,  not  unmixed  with 
thankfulness,  on  finding  themselves  safe  down  to 
earth  again.  The  general  public  are  permitted 
to  ascend  no  higher  than  the  third  stage;  but 
from  this  platform  a  spiral  staircase  leads  upward 
still  to  the  campanile  and  to  the  extreme  upper 
portion  of  the  tower,  which  contains  the  large 
composite  lantern  for  the  electric  light. 

The  campanile  consists  of  several  small  rooms 
set  apart  especially  for  scientific  purposes.  The 
lantern  is  a  complex  arrangement  of  glasses  for 
reflecting  and  refracting  the  light,  similar  to 
those  made  use  of  in  lighthouses  of  the  first 
class. 


[59] 


Northern  Europe 


The  dynamo  for  the  production  of  the  light 
is  placed  in  the  basement  of  the  south  pillar  of 
the  tower,  and  the  light  itself  is  of  between  five 
and  six  thousand  candle  power,  which  the  reflec¬ 
tors  of  the  lantern  augment  to  not  far  from 
seventy  thousand  candle  power. 

By  means  of  a  revolving  drum  of  colored  glass 
the  lantern  is  made  to  give  forth,  alternately, 
the  three  colors  of  the  national  bunting,  —  blue, 
white,  and  red,  —  and  it  is  said  that  the  white 
light  can  be  seen  from  vessels  in  the  British 
Channel. 

The  tower  is  otherwise  lighted  by  hundreds  of 
gas  jets  and  smaller  electric  lanterns,  and  presents 
by  night  a  very  beautiful  appearance. 

C.  A.  Stephens. 


[60] 


ON  THE  QUICKSANDS 


We  had  been  spending  the  month  of  August 
in  the  quaint  old  Norman  town  of  Granville. 
Granville  is  on  the  northern  coast  of  France,  a  few 
miles  north  of  the  head  of  the  bay  at  the  mouth 
of  which  are  the  islands  of  Guernsey  and  Jersey. 

One  day  we  planned  a  visit  to  Mont  St.  Michel, 
a  tiny  island  that  lies  at  the  very  angle  of  the 
two  shore  lines  that  form  the  bay. 

H  aving  breakfasted  very  early  we  took  our 
places  upon  the  top  of  the  old  diligence ,  as  the 
French  call  a  stagecoach.  The  driver  cracked 
his  whip,  and  off  the  four  horses  started  on  a 
run,  which  subsided  into  a  steady  trot  as  we  left 
the  town.  The  beach  over  which  we  were  pass¬ 
ing  was  firm  and  hard  at  the  high-tide  level,  and 
we  kept  closely  to  the  coast,  only  occasionally 
diverging  for  a  short  cut  across  country. 

Just  after  eleven  o’clock  we  arrived  at  the  old 
coast  town  of  Genet,  where  we  dismounted  at  the 
garden  of  the  principal  inn. 

O] 


Northern  Europe 


The  innkeeper’s  wife  came  smilingly  forward 
to  greet  us,  her  face  red  and  shining,  her  cap  — 
with  the  high,  full  back  and  long  tabs  pinned 
across  the  top  to  form  gables  —  snowy  white, 
and  her  sabots  clattering  over  the  stones  with  a 
friendly  sound. 

On  hearing  that  we  were  on  the  way  to  St. 
Michel,  she  affected  the  greatest  concern,  for, 
she  said,  the  best  guide  which  Genet  afforded 
would  not  return  for  one  little  hour;  also  the 
tide  was  not  yet  far  enough  out;  but  —  if  the 
gentlemen  and  ladies  would  honor  her  with  their 
company  to  dinner,  she  could  assure  them  that 
by  midday  they  should  be  possessed  of  the  finest 
equipage  and  the  best  guide,  and  could  go  on 
their  way  refreshed. 

We  spent  the  half  hour  while  dinner  was  pre¬ 
paring  in  reading  the  epitaphs  in  the  churchyard 
of  the  ancient  church,  half  of  which  was  built  by 
the  French  and  the  other  half  by  the  English. 

Then  appeared  a  small  urchin,  in  a  very  blue 
blouse,  to  announce  to  us  that  our  luncheon  was 
served.  We  were  ushered  into  a  barnlike  room, 
where  the  rafters  were  hung  with  dried  meats, 
fruits,  and  herbs.  A  huge  fire  was  built  on  the 

[62] 


On  the  Quicksands 


stone  floor  in  one  corner,  and  along  the  side 
ran  the  long  oak  table  on  which  our  luncheon 
was  spread,  —  and  we  found  it  as  good  as  had 
been  promised. 

True  to  our  hostess’s  prediction,  just  as  the 
clock  struck  twelve,  the  rumbling  of  wheels 
stopped  at  the  gate  and  the  inn  door  was  flung 
open  by  a  man  who  presented  himself  as  our 
guide.  He  was  a  slim,  keen-faced  man,  tanned  to 
almost  the  color  of  an  Arab.  He  had  a  peculiarly 
quick,  alert  look,  which  immediately  inspired  con¬ 
fidence.  He  wished  us  good  day,  and  in  a  cere¬ 
monious  manner  placed  himself  at  our  service 
and  informed  us  that  all  was  in  readiness  for  our 
departure. 

We  found,  drawn  up  before  the  gate,  an  equi¬ 
page  which  very  much  astonished  us.  I  can  liken 
it  to  nothing  but  a  well-built  dump  cart.  It  was 
high,  and  rested  on  two  broad  wheels,  but  the 
seats  were  arranged  like  those  of  a  wagonette. 
Two  horses  were  to  be  driven  tandem,  much  to 
our  delight. 

Molly  was  in  such  high  spirits  that  it  was  with 
some  difficulty  that  we  induced  her  to  take  her 
seat  quietly  by  the  side  of  the  Fraulein,  our 

[63] 


Northern  Europe 


German  maid.  Dick  volunteered  to  help  keep 
Molly  in  order,  while  Carrie  and  1  sat  opposite  i 
them  with  Cousin  Charley.  Monsieur  Beaumont, 
our  landlord,  was  on  the  front  seat  with  the  driver. 

The  guide  picked  up  an  implement  which  we  i 
dubbed  Neptune’s  trident,  and  stood  on  the  step 
of  the  wagon,  thus  completing  a  fanciful  picture. 

Madame  came  out  to  bid  us  ati  revoir ,  as  did 
all  the  inmates  of  the  inn,  and  every  man,  woman, 
child,  and  baby  along  our  route  crowded  to  the  ; 
doors  and  windows  to  see  us  pass. 

We  soon  came  to  the  coast,  and  as  we  paused 
for  the  guide  and  driver  to  make  a  few  final  prep¬ 
arations,  I  will  remind  you  that  the  tides  on  the 
coast  of  Normandy  rise  much  higher  than  those 
on  the  American  coast.  The  ordinary  height  of 
tides  on  the  Atlantic,  except  where  it  is  influenced 
by  the  Bay  of  Fundy,  averages  from  four  to  nine 
feet.  The  tide  on  the  coast  where  we  were  then 
waiting  rises  from  forty-five  to  sixty  feet ;  so  that, 
though  at  high  tide  Mont  St.  Michel  is  three  miles 
out  at  sea,  at  low  tide  it  is  surrounded  by  a  vast 
plain  of  sand. 

Again,  the  sand  is  not  like  that  of  which  boys 
on  our  coast  have  built  so  many  forts  and  houses, 

[64] 


On  the  Quicksands 


for  it  is  what  is  called  quicksand  —  sand  so  mixed 
with  water  that  it  is  unable  to  bear  the  weight  of 
a  body,  and  so  shifting  that  it  alters  with  every 
turn  of  the  tide.  Therefore*  a  new  road  to  the 
island  must  be  found  each  day;  hence  the  neces¬ 
sity  of  a  guide. 

Now,  however,  we  were  ready  to  start.  We 
saw  that  both  guide  and  driver  had  rolled  up 
their  trousers  as  far  as  possible,  and  had  placed 
their  shoes  in  the  wagon.  The  guide  was  already 
leaping  on  in  front  of  us.  In  this  manner  we 
proceeded  across  the  quicksands. 

The  guide  kept  about  an  eighth  of  a  mile  in 
advance.  His  trident  was  attached  by  a  rope  to 
his  broad,  strong  belt.  He  would  fling  the  trident 
to  the  length  of  the  rope,  and,  if  satisfied,  would 
follow;  if,  however,  the  trident  sank  too  quickly 
or  too  deep,  he  would  jerk  it  back  and  try  again 
in  another  direction. 

He  was  a  swift  runner,  and  in  this  way  our 
horses  were  able  to  follow  at  a  steady  trot.  The 
driver,  meanwhile,  ran  by  the  side  of  the  wagon 
and  urged  on  the  horses  by  voice  and  lash.  The 
wheels  appeared  to  sink  about  a  foot  into  the 
sand,  and  once,  when  Dick  got  out  to  try  running, 

[65] 


Northern  Europe 


he  caught  hold  of  the  wagon  again  as  quickly  as 
possible,  saying  that  he  felt  the  strangest  sensa¬ 
tion,  as  if  he  had  been  running  on  water;  that 
one  part  of  his  foot  would  sink,  while  the  sands 
would  rise  under  the  other  part 

We  asked  the  driver  innumerable  questions  at 
first,  among  others,  how  “quick”  the  sand  was; 
and  he  answered  that  if  the  wagon  with  us  in  it 
should  stand  in  one  spot  for  an  hour  and  a  half 
it  would  sink  so  that  not  even  the  lash  of  the 
long  whip  —  which  then  stood  in  its  socket  — 
would  be  left  above  the  sands. 

The  sun  was  very  hot  and  oppressive,  and 
every  ray  was  reflected  from  the  gleaming  sands 
below. 

The  only  thing  which  happened  to  break  the 
monotony  of  the  ride  was  fording  the  little  river 
which  comes  down  from  Avranches.  There,  in 
mid-water,  we  stopped  to  rest  the  horses  for  a  few 
moments,  and  to  take  a  long  look  at  the  island, 
which  grew  in  grandeur  as  we  neared  it.  We 
could  see  that  its  foundations  were  huge  walls 
of  rock,  above  which  clustered  the  low  stone 
houses  peculiar  to  that  part  of  the  country i 
but  the  top  of  the  mountain  is  crowned  by  a 

[66] 


On  the  Quicksands 


beautiful  monastery,  whose  pinnacles  and  towers 
seemed  to  pierce  the  sky.  Then  on  we  went 
again  till  we  made  a  final  dash  up  the  steep 
incline  into  the  open  gates  of  this  unique  little 
town. 

We  drove  directly  to  the  Lion  d’Or,  and  after 
a  little  rest  on  an  old  oaken  settle,  in  the  quiet, 
well-sanded  living  room  of  the  inn,  we  proceeded, 
under  the  guidance  of  an  old  monk,  to  mount  the 
narrow,  steep  path  to  the  monastery  gates,  which, 
after  much  ceremony  and  showing  of  passes,  we 
were  allowed  to  enter. 

As  the  one  little  street  which  crossed  the  center 
of  the  island  was  not  wide  enough  to  admit  of 
our  driver’s  making  one  of  the  sweeping  turns 
in  which  he  delighted,  the  horses  were  detached, 
and  the  wagon  and  horses  were  turned  separately. 
Then  we  started  on  our  homeward  way. 

A  cool  breeze  had  sprung  up,  and  the  sun’s 
rays  did  not  seem  so  powerful  as  on  our  outward 
journey.  We  were  in  high  spirits,  and  were 
singing  college  songs,  when  suddenly  we  heard 
a  faint  cry.  In  an  instant  every  face  was  sobered, 
every  voice  was  hushed.  We  knew  that  some 
one  must  be  in  deadlv  peril. 

[67] 


Northern  Europe 


Again,  over  the  sands,  came  the  same  faint  but 
agonized  cry  for  help.  Our  guide  came  running 
back,  his  face  pale  with  excitement. 

In  a  few  words  he  explained  to  us  that  through 
his  glass  he  could  see  two  figures,  in  the  direction 
from  which  the  cry  had  come;  also  their  great 
danger.  We  had  left  the  island  so  promptly  that 
we  would  have  time  to  go  to  the  help  of  these 
people  before  the  tide  came  in,  and  it  was  their 
only  hope  of  safety.  Of  course  we  told  him  to 
do  everything  that  could  possibly  be  done  to  save 
them. 

Off  he  started,  calling  to  our  driver  to  follow 
rapidly.  We  were  startled  to  find  that  we  must 
go  toward  the  sea,  but  all  fear  was  forgotten  in 
our  anxiety  to  save  the  two  fellow-creatures  in 
peril,  whose  cries  were  growing  more  and  more 
distinct,  and  more  heartrending.  Our  guide  fre¬ 
quently  had  to  alter  his  course,  so  that  it  seemed 
ages  before  we  could  even  distinguish  the  figures. 

Soon,  however,  we  discovered  them  to  be  two 
girls,  one  of  whom  had  already  sunk  into  the 
treacherous  sand  above  her  knees;  the  other,  a 
little  child  of  not  more  than  six  or  seven  years, 
was  seated  upon  the  older  girl’s  shoulder,  her 

[68] 


On  the  Quicksands 


arms  clasped  tightly  about  her  neck.  It  seemed 
to  us  that  we  could  see  them  slowly  sinking, 
deeper  and  deeper,  into  the  sand,  and  it  was  hor¬ 
rible  to  think  that  we  could  not  rush  to  their  aid, 


but  must  calmly  wait  and  trust  everything  to  the 
wisdom  of  our  guide. 

I  am  sure  that  each  of  us  offered  a  silent  prayer 
that  God  would  direct  him.  As  soon  as  the  girls 
could  hear  him,  he  shouted  to  them  to  keep  up 
brave  hearts,  for,  with  God’s  help,  he  would  save 
them.  Then  back  he  ran  to  us. 

[69] 


Northern  Europe 


You  must  remember  that  all  this  time  it  was 
necessary  for  us  to  keep  moving  that  we  also 
might  not  sink.  The  guide  now  rapidly  explained 
how  far  it  would  be  safe  for  us  to  go  forward,  \ 
after  which  we  must  make  a  semicircle  around  i 
them,  turning  and  going  backward  and  forward 
over  the  same  ground,  as  it  would  be  unsafe  to  | 
try  a  new  one. 

He  then  fastened  one  end  of  the  long  rope,  \ 
which  we  had  noticed  in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  i 
by  tying  it  around  the  front  seat  and  letting  it 
run  between  us  and  out  at  the  back  of  the  wagon. 
The  other  end  he  attached  to  his  belt,  after  unfas-  I 
tening  the  trident,  which  he  left  with  us.  It  did 
not  take  him  as  long  to  do  this  as  it  has  taken  me  I 
to  describe  his  method,  and  he  was  soon  running 
toward  the  unfortunate  girls. 

We  were  now  near  enough  to  see  them  dis-  ! 
tinctly,  and  the  tears  came  to  our  eyes  when  we 
saw  that  the  poor  little  child  was  standing  on  the 
shoulders  of  the  older  girl,  whose  white  arms  held 
her  firmly.  The  sands  now  reached  to  her  waist, 
and  yet  we  could  hear  that  the  cries  for  help  all 
came  from  the  little  one,  while  a  low,  soothing 
undertone  told  us  that  she  was  being  comforted 

[70] 


On  the  (^iiicksands 


and  reassured  by  the  other,  whose  strong  arms, 
raised  above  her  head,  never  trembled,  but  held 
the  little  one  securely  in  place. 

As  the  guide  neared  them,  we  heard  the  crv: 

O  J 


“  Save  Babette !  Never  mind  me,  but  oh,  save 
Babette !  ” 

Now  came  a  desperate  struggle  for  life.  The 
added  weight  of  the  guide  caused  the  sand  to  rise 
higher  and  higher  around  the  girl.  We  held  our 

[7i  ] 


Northern  Europe 


breath  in  suspense.  Could  they  be  saved?  And 
even  if  little  Babette  were  safely  tied  to  the  rope 
above  where  it  was  fastened  to  the  guide’s  belt 
how  could  he  save  the  older  girl,  whose  arms,  now 
that  the  child  had  been  taken  from  her  shoulders 
had  dropped,  seemingly  lifeless,  on  the  sands  | 
before  her.  We  could  see  that  she  had  fainted,  j 

All  this  time  we  were  circling  nearer  the  spot 
where  our  interest  wras  centered ;  nearer,  so  that 
the  rope  might  be  loosened;  and  now  we  saw  * 
that  the  little  girl  was  securely  fastened  to  the  I 
rope,  but  that  the  guide  wras  more  than  knee-deep 
in  the  gleaming  sand,  which  was  bubbling  and 
boiling  around  us,  showing  that  the  tide  had 
turned  and  was  fast  approaching. 

Then  came  the  final  struggle.  The  guide 
leaned  forward  and  grasped  the  older  girl  by  I 
flinging  his  arms  around  her  just  under  her  arms;  I 
then  shouted,  in  tones  which  convinced  us  that 
on  this  move  rested  the  fate  of  all  three,  “  To  the 
river,  quick !  ” 

We  all  grasped  the  rope,  fearing  to  trust  the 
knots  alone ;  and  though  the  horses  turned,  there 
was  a  moment  in  which  they  seemed  to  lose  their 
footing  and  Avere  unable  to  stir. 

[7^] 


On  the  Quicksands 


The  driver,  who  had  been  on  the  seat  for  some 
time,  now  leaped  to  the  ground  and  used  his 
whip  and  lungs  vigorously,  at  the  same  time 
tugging  at  the  bridle  of  the  forward  horse. 

It  was  a  moment  of  terrible  suspense;  all 
depended  upon  the  horses,  for  the  rope  was 
strong,  and  we  knew  that  two  of  those  to  be 
saved  were  securely  fastened  to  it,  while  the 
guide  was  holding  to  the  girl  with  a  grasp  like 
death. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  horses  knew  how  much 
depended  upon  them,  for,  in  spite  of  their  slipping 
and  sinking  footsteps,  they  succeeded  in  moving 
forward,  and  soon  we  saw  the  girl  gently  drawn 
from  her  living  grave ;  the  sand  closed  instantly 
behind  her  and  left  no  trace  of  the  dreadful 
struggle. 

On,  on  we  went,  the  sands  casting  up  little 
spouts  of  water  all  around  us,  and  the  wheels 
sinking  halfway  to  the  hubs.  Now  our  only 
dread  was  that  the  older  girl  could  not  be  brought 
out  of  the  long  fainting  fit. 

The  little  one  was  clinging  wildly  to  the  rope, 
sobbing  pitifully  and  calling,  “Sister,  sister,  open 
/our  eyes  and  look  at  me!”  The  guide  held 

[73  ] 


Northern  Europe 


firmly  to  the  girl ;  he  did  not  attempt  to  regain  1 
his  footing,  but  was  dragged  backward  over  the  f 
sand. 

After  what  seemed  to  us  hours,  we  reached  the  I 
river  which  comes  down  from  Avranches.  Here,  j 
on  the  pebbly  bottom,  it  was  safe  for  us  to  come  j 
to  a  standstill.  Then  we  all  pulled  on  the  rope,  ( 
and  it  required  our  combined  strength  to  draw  J 
to  us  the  three  figures  who  were  so  unable  to 
help  themselves;  but  strength  was  given  us,  and 
nearer  and  nearer  they  came,  until  they  were  at 
the  edge  of  the  river. 

The  driver  then  waded  to  the  shore,  took 
Babette  in  his  arms  and  cut  the  rope,  that  no  • 
time  might  be  lost.  She  clung  to  him,  sobbing, 
and  with  many  comforting  words  he  brought  her 
to  the  wagon,  where  we  received  her.  She  soon 
cuddled  down,  exhausted,  in  the  Fraulein’s  lap, 
and  we  hastened  to  draw  in  the  rope,  and  to  pile  j 
our  wraps  into  the  bottom  of  the  wagonette. 

On  looking  back,  we  saw  the  driver  just  lifting  | 
the  older  sister  from  the  arms  of  the  guide,  who  I 
then  struggled  to  his  feet,  and,  with  the  driver,  » 
bore  the  still  unconscious  girl  to  the  place  we 
had  prepared  for  her. 

[74] 


On  the  Quicksands 


There  was  no  time  to  stop  to  revive  her,  for 
,ve  could  already  see  the  line  of  surf,  which  was 
i  steadily  gaining  upon  us,  and  we  had  still  two 
niles  to  go.  So  we  hurriedly  dipped  our  hand¬ 
kerchiefs  into  the  river,  the  guide  splashed  his 
ace  vigorously,  caught  his  trident  from  the 
,  vvagon,  and  on  he  went,  not  stopping  for  one 
moment’s  rest  after  his  almost  superhuman  exer- 
:ions.  Babette  still  sobbed  in  the  Fraulein’s 
irms,  always  calling  to  her  sister  that  she  was 
i  safe,  and  begging  her  to  speak. 

The  rest  of  us  bent  all  our  energies  to  call  the 
older  sister  back  to  life.  We  bathed  her  face  and 
chafed  her  hands,  and  were  presently  rewarded 
by  seeing  her  open  her  eyes. 

She  was  trying  to  speak,  and,  looking  into  our 
strange  faces,  gasped,  “  The  sands  are  creeping 
higher  and  higher.  Tell  mother  not  to  grieve 
or  me,  for  I  saved  Babette.”  Then  she  sank 
oack  into  an  unconscious  state,  from  which  we 
could  not  again  arouse  her. 

All  this  time  we  were  racing  with  the  tide;  the 
worses  and  men  were  tired,  but  on  they  sped. 
We  could  hear  the  water  in  the  sands  beneath 
.is,  and  the  white  surf  line  came  nearer  and  nearer, 

[75] 


Northern  Europe 

until  it  seemed  as  if  the  waves  were  breaking  jus 
behind  us. 

On,  on  we  went.  The  voice  of  the  water; 
seemed  to  put  new  life  into  the  horses,  whc 
pricked  up  their  ears,  dashed  forward,  and  finally 
landed  us  safely  upon  the  coast. 

There  an  anxious  crowd  had  assembled  tc 
watch  our  race  with  the  tide.  As  the  people  I 
gathered  around  to  hear  why  we  had  so  long 
delayed  our  return,  a  cry  of  “Mamma!”  was 
heard,  and  a  comely  peasant  woman  elbowed 
her  way  through  the  crowd  to  the  side  of  the 
wagon,  and  caught  Babette  in  her  arms.  Then,* 
seeing  the  white  face  among  us,  she  screamed,! 
“Jeanne,  my  daughter!  Give  her  to  me!” 

Of  course  we  hastened  to  explain  matters,  and  in  I 
return  she  told  us  how  Jeanne  had  raised  a  beau- ' 
tiful  white  lily,  and  was  taking  it  as  an  offering 
to  “  Our  Lady  of  the  Flowers”  at  the  monastery.! 

They  had  warned  her  that  she  might  lose  her 
way,  but  she  had  been  cjuite  sure  that  she  could 
find  a  safe  path,  with  the  result  which  we  have  f 
seen. 

During  this  recital  the  mother  had  led  the 
way  to  their  little  cottage,  where  we  left  them,  j 

r  76  j 


' 


On  the  (Quicksands 


Wter  supper  we  hastened  back  to  see  again  the 
;wo  girls  with  whom  fate  had  so  closely  linked 
.is  that  afternoon. 

Little  Babette,  looking  rosy  and  sweet  in  a 
:resh  pinafore,  ran  to  meet  us,  and  led  us  to 
Jeanne,  who  was  sitting  on  the  doorstep,  leaning 
back  against  the  door,  the  lower  half  of  which 
was  closed.  She  smiled  a  welcome,  being  still 
too  weak  to  talk. 

We  congratulated  the  mother  upon  having  such 
a  noble  daughter,  but  no  words  could  express  the 
admiration  we  felt  for  this  girl,  who  had  bravely 
held  up  her  little  sister  to  be  saved,  while  she 
slowly  sank  into  what  she  felt  to  be  certain 
death. 

Lucy  C.  Kellogg. 


[77] 


LIFE  IN  THE  ALPS 


I 

Switzerland  is  made  up  of  a  number  of 
cantons,  which  are  subdivided  into  communes, 
each  possessing  its  own  president  and  council, 
and  making  its  own  local  laws.  The  communal 
laws  are,  however,  subject  to  the  revision  of  the 
cantonal  government.  I  live,  for  instance,  in 
the  commune  of  Naters.  The  sale  of  the  land 
on  which  our  chalet  stands  was  first  agreed  to 
by  the  vote  of  the  assembled  burghers  of  the 
commune ;  but  their  vote  had  to  be  afterwards 
ratified  by  the  “  high  government  ”  of  Sion,  the 
chief  town  of  the  canton.  Naters,  the  name  of 
the  commune,  is  also  the  name  of  its  principal 
village. 

I  had  the  honor,  this  year,  of  being  unani¬ 
mously  elected  an  honorary  burgher  of  the  com¬ 
mune.  This  confers  upon  me  certain  rights  and 
privileges  not  previously  enjoyed.  I  can,  if  I 
please,  pasture  cows  upon  the  alps  —  a  name  | 

[78] 


- 


Northern  Europe 

given  by  the  inhabitants,  not  to  the  snow-capped 
mountains,  but  to  the  grassy  slopes  stretching  far 
below,  the  snows.  I  am  also  entitled  to  a  certain 
allowance  of  fuel  from  the  pine  woods.  Finally,  1 
I  can  build  a  chalet  on  the  communal  ground. 

I  have  called  it  a  chalet,  but  it  is  by  no  means 
one  of  the  picturesque  wooden  edifices  to  which  > 
this  term  is  usually  applied.  It  has  to  bear,  at 
times,  the  pressure  of  a  mighty  mass  of  snow. 
The  walls  are  therefore  built  of  stone  and  are  | 
very  thick. 

I  could  give  you  many  illustrations  of  the 
breakages  produced  by  snow  pressure,  but  one  1 
will  suffice. 

Our  kitchen  chimney  rises  from  the  roof  near 
the  eaves,  and  the  pressure  of  the  snow  lying  on 
the  roof  above  it  was  once  so  great  as  to  shear 
away  the  chimney  and  land  it  bodily  upon  the 
snowdrift  underneath.  Once,  indeed,  to  obtain  j 
entrance  to  our  kitchen,  we  had  to  cut  a  staircase  ] 
of  six  steps  in  the  drift  at  the  back  of  the  house. 

Toward  the  end  of  June  the  flocks  and  herds  | 
are  driven  to  the  upper  pastures,  private  owner-  i 
ship  ceasing  and  communal  rights,  as  to  grazing,  i 
beginning  at  an  elevation  of  about  four  thousand  ) 

[8°] 


Life  in  the  Alps 


living  property,  remaining  for  two  or  three 
months  in  huts  built  expressly  with  a  view  to 
their  annual  migration.  Nearly  all  of  them  move 

[81] 


feet  above  the  Rhone,  or  seven  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea. 

The  peasants  and  their 
families  accompany  their 

/ 


Northern  Europe 


into  Naters  for  the  winter;  but  we  remain  alone, 
amid  the  solemn  silence  of  the  hills,  three  weeks 
or  a  month  after  the  peasants  have  disappeared. 
Their  time  of  disappearance  depends  upon  the 
exhaustion  of  the  pasturage.  Many  of  them  have 
intermediate  huts  and  bits  of  land  between  Naters 
and  their  highest  dwellings,  and  the  possessors 
of  such  huts  descend  by  successive  steps  to  the 
valley. 

Snow  falls,  of  course,  for  the  most  part,  in 
winter;  but  the  exact  period  at  which  it  falls  is 
not  to  be  predicted.  A  winter  may  pass  with 
scarcely  any  snow,  while  in  early  spring  it  may 
fall  in  immense  quantities.  Then  follows  a  time 
of  avalanches,  when  the  snow,  detaching  itself 
from  the  steep  mountain  sides,  shoots  downward 
with  destructive  energy. 

I  have  seen  snow  here  in  midsummer,  so  heavy 
that  the  herds  had  to  be  driven  a  long  way  down 
to  get  a  little  pasture.  Three  or  four  years  ago 
a  fall  of  unequaled  severity  began  on  the  night 
of  the  1 2th  of  September.  There  was  a  brief 
respite  of  sunshine,  during  which  the  peasants, 
had  they  been  wise,  might  have  brought  down 
their  flocks.  But  they  failed  to  do  so.  Snowing 

'[82] 


Life  in  the  Alps 

recommenced,  the  sheep  were  caught  upon  the 
mountains,  and  for  a  long  time  they  could  not 
be  reached  by  their  owners.  Many  of  them 
perished. 

For  thirteen  days  the  chief  portion  of  the  flock 
remained  unaccounted  for.  During  all  this  time 
the  animals  were  without  food,  and,  indeed,  were 
given  up  for  lost.  Nearly  two  hundred  of  them, 
however,  were  afterwards  discovered  alive,  and 
driven  down  to  the  Bel  Alp.  I  saw  them  arrive 
after  their  long  fast,  and  they  seemed  perfectly 
brisk  and  cheerful.  Some  of  them  were  entirely 
bare  of  wool,  the  covering  having  been  eaten  off 
their  backs  by  their  famishing  companions.  I 
have  been  assured  that  all  the  sheep  that  indulged 
in  this  nutriment  died,  balls  of  undigested  wool 
being  found  in  their  stomachs  afterwards. 

Avalanches  were  frequent  at  the  time  here 
referred  to,  and  by  them  numbers  of  the  sheep 
on  the  lower  slopes  were  swept  away. 

It  is  only  those  burghers  who  are  compara¬ 
tively  well  off  that  ascend  to  the  higher  grazing 
grounds.  Even  they  seem  to  find  the  struggle 
for  existence  a  hard  one.  Two  or  three  cows 
and  a  few  sheep  or  goats  constitute,  in  fairly 

[83] 


Northern  Europe 


well-to-do  cases,  the  burgher’s  movable  wealth, 
while  the  land  privately  owned  is  divided  into 
very  small  parcels. 

The  peasants’  huts,  built  for  the  most  part  of 
pine  logs,  richly  colored  by  the  oxidizing  action 
of  the  sun,  are  not  always  wholesome.  The 
upper  part  of  every  hut  is  divided  into  two 
dwelling  rooms,  one  for  sleeping  and  the  other 
for  cooking  and  other  purposes.  The  single 
sleeping  room  is  often  occupied  by  a  numerous 
family,  space  being  obtained  by  placing  one  bed 
above  another,  like  the  berths  in  a  ship.  There 
is  no  chimney,  the  smoke  escaping  through  aper¬ 
tures  in  the  roof. 

In  our  neighborhood  the  roofs  are  usually 
formed  of  flags  obtained  from* a  rock  capable  of 
cleavage.  The  sleeping  room  is  always  over  the 
cow  shed,  this  position  being  chosen  for  the  sake 
of  warmth.  Through  chinks  in  the  floor  the 
sleepers  obtain  not  only  warmth,  but  often  air 
that  has  passed  through  the  lungs  of  the  ani¬ 
mals  underneath.  The  result,  as  regards  health, 
is  not  satisfactory;  the  women  and  children  suffer 
most.  Were  it  not  that  the  contaminated  respi¬ 
ration  of  the  night  is  neutralized  by  outdoor  life 

[84] 


Life  in  the  Alps 


during  the  day,  the 
result  would  be  still 
less  satisfactory. 


As  I  write,  a  rush,  followed  by  a  heavy  thud, 
outside,  informs  me  that  a  mass  of  snow  has  shot, 

[85] 


Northern  Europe 


from  the  southern  slope  of  our  roof,  down  upon 
our  terrace.  This  reminds  me  to  tell  you  some¬ 
thing  more  about  the  avalanches  which  are  such 
frequent  destroyers  of  life  in  the  Alps.  Whole 
villages,  imprudently  situated,  are  from  time  to 
time  overwhelmed.  We  had  an  eye  to  this 
danger  when  we  chose  the  terrace  on  which  our 
cottage  is  built. 

Climbers  and  their  guides  are  not  infrequently 
carried  away  by  avalanches,  and  many  a  brave 
man  lies  at  the  present  moment  undiscovered  in 
their  debris.  Some  years  ago  a  famous  guide 
and  favorite  companion  of  mine  was  lost  through 
allowing  himself  to  be  persuaded  to  attempt  a 
mountain  which  he  considered  unsafe. 

Falling  stones  constitute  another  serious  and 
frequently  fatal  danger  in  the  Alps;  and  here  the 
goats,  which  roam  about  the  upper  slopes  and 
gullies,  often  play  a  mischievous  part.  I  once 
witnessed  an  incident  of  this  kind. 

I  was  accompanied  at  the  time  by  a  friend  and 
his  son.  A  herd  of  goats  was  observed  brows¬ 
ing  on  the  heights  above  us.  Suddenly  an 
ominous  tapping  was  heard  overhead,  and,  look¬ 
ing  up,  I  saw  a  stone  in  the  air.  Whenever  it 

[86] 


Life  in  the  Alps 

touched  the  ground  it 
was  deflected,  so  that 
from  the  direction  of  the 
stone  at  any  moment 
it  was  difficult  to  infer 
its  final  direction. 

I  called  out  to  my 
friend,  “  Beware  of  the 
stone!”  and  he,  turning 
toward  his  son,  repeated 
the  warning.  It  had  scarcely  quitted  his  lips 
when  the  missile  plunged  down  upon  him.  He 
fell  with  a  shout,  and  I  was  instantly  at  his  side. 
The  stone  had  struck  the  calf 
of  his  leg,  embedding  one  of 
its  angles  in  the  flesh,  and  in¬ 
flicting  a  very  ugly  wound. 

Slipping  in  perilous  places  is 
the  most  fruitful  cause  of  Alpine 
disaster.  It  is  usual  for  climbers 
to  rope  themsel  ves  together,  and 
the  English  Alpine  Club  has 
taken  every  pains  to  produce 
ropes  of  the  soundest  material 
and  the  best  workmanship. 

[87] 


Northern  Europe 


The  rope  is  tied  around  the  waist,  or  is  fastened 
to  a  belt  clasping  the  waist,  of  each  climber. 
The  rope  is  an  indispensable  accompaniment  of 
Alpine  climbing,  and  no  competent  mountaineer 
will  recommend  its  abandonment.  Prudence,  how¬ 
ever,  is  necessary  in  the  use  of  it.  The  men  tied 
together  ought  to  be  few  in  number.  A  party 
of  three  or  four,  including  the  guide  or  guides, 
is,  in  my  opinion,  large  enough.  In  a  numerous 

party  there  is  a  temptation  to  distribute  responsi- 
.  .  • 
bility,  each  individual  tending  to  rely  too  much 

upon  the  others;  while  in  a  small  party  the  mind 

of  each  man  is  concentrated  on  the  precautions 

necessary  for  safety. 


II 

On  still,  sunny  summer  days,  the  heat  is  great 
and  relaxing.  This  is  the  time  to  seek  the  adja¬ 
cent  glacier,  down  which  a  torrent  of  bracing  air 
rolls  daily.  We  have  also  our  due  share  of 
thunderstorms,  when  the  peals,  sometimes  break¬ 
ing  close  to  us,  retreat  in  deafening  echoes  and 
die  away  amid  the  rocky  halls  of  the  mountains. 

In.  this  respect,  however,  we  are  far  better  off 
[88] 


Lite  in  the  Alps 


than  our  neighbors  in  northern  Italy,  whose 
hills,  acting  as  lightning  conductors,  partially 
drain  the  clouds  of  their  electricity  before  we 
receive  the  shots  of  their  “red  artillery.”  We  can 
see  from  our  mountain  perch  the  wonderful 
“thrilling”  of  these  Italian  thunderstorms,  beyond 
the  great  mountain  range  at  the  farther  side  of 
the  valley  of  the  Rhone. 

On  the  fine  October  morning  when  these  lines 
are  written,  we  find  ourselves  surrounded  every¬ 
where  by  glittering  snow.  The  riven  glacier  and 
its  flanking  mountains  are  dazzling  in  their  white¬ 
ness.  After  a  period  of  superb  weather,  streaks 
and  wisps  of  boding  cloud  made  their  appearance 
a  few  days  ago.  They  spread,  became  denser, 
and  finally  discharged  themselves  in  a  heavy  fall 
of  snow. 

But  the  sunshine  rapidly  recovered  its 
ascendency,  and  the  peasants,  who  had  already 
descended  some  distance  with  their  cows  and 
sheep,  hoped  two  days  of  such  warmth  would 
again  clear  their  pastures. 

They  were  deceived,  for  yesterday  the  snow 
fell  steadily  and  almost  constantly.  It  interrupted 
the  transport  of  our  firewood,  on  mules’  backs, 

[89] 


Northern  Europe 


from  the  pine  woods  nearly  one  thousand  feet 
below  us.  This  morning,  however,  I  opened  the 
glass  door  of  our  little  sitting  room,  which  faces 
south,  and  stepped  out  upon  our  terrace.  About 
one  thousand  five  hundred  feet  below  us  the  white 
covering  came  to  an  end,  while,  beyond  this, 
sunny  green  pastures  descended  to  the  valley  of 
the  Rhone.  To  the  north  the  peaks  grouped 
themselves  round  the  massive  Aletschhorn,  the 
second  in  height  among  these  Oberland  Moun¬ 
tains.  Over  the  Aletschhorn  the  sky  was  clear, 
which  is  one  of  the  surest  signs  of  fine  weather. 
On  a  morning  as  fair  and  exhilarating  as  the 
present  one,  but  earlier  in  the  year,  from  the  top 
of  the  Aletschhorn  —  a  height  of  fourteen  thou¬ 
sand  feet  —  I  once  looked  down  upon  the  summit 
of  the  Jungfrau. 

One  striking  feature  invariably  reveals  itself 
here  at  the  end  of  September  and  beginning  of 
October.  From  the  terrace  of  our  cottage  we 
look  down  upon  a  basin  vast  and  grand,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  stands  the  town  of  Brieg.  Over 
Brieg  the  line  of  vision  carries  us  to  the  Simplon 
Pass  and  the  mountains  right  and  left  of  it. 
Naters  stands  in  a  great  gap  of  the  mountains, 

[9°] 


Life  in  the  Alps 


where  meadows  and  pine-clad  knolls  stretch,  with 
great  variety  of  contour,  up  to  the  higher  Alpine 
pastures.  The  basin  has  no  regularly  rounded 
rim  but  runs  into  irregular  bays  and  estuaries, 
continuous  with  the  great  valley  of  the  Rhone. 

At  the  period  referred  to,  valley,  basin,  bays, 
and  estuaries  are  frequently  filled  by  a  cloud,  the 
.■  surface  of  which  seems,  at  times,  as  level  as  the 
unruffled  surface  of  the  ocean.  A  night  or  two 
ago  I  looked  down  upon  such  a  sea  of  cloud,  as 
it  gleamed  in  the  light  of  a  brilliant  moon.  Above 
the  shining  sea  rose  the  solemn  mountains,  over¬ 
arched  by  the  cloudless  sky. 

As  I  write,  a  firmament  of  undimmed  azure 
shuts  out  the  view  into  stellar  space.  No  trace  of 
cloud  is  visible;  and  yet  the  substance  from  which 
clouds  are  made  is,  at  this  moment,  mixed  copi¬ 
ously  with  the  transparent  air.  That  substance 
is  the  vapor  of  water;  and  I  take  this  beautiful 
day  as  an  illustration  to  impress  upon  you  the 
fact  that  water  vapor  is  not  a  thing  that  can  he 
seen  in  the  air.  Were  the  atmosphere  above  and 
around  me  at  the  present  moment  suddenly  chilled, 
visible  clouds  would  be  formed  by  the  precipita¬ 
tion  of  vapor  now  invisible. 

[9i] 


Northern  Europe 


Some  years  ago  I  stood  upon  the  roof  of  the 
great  cathedral  of  Milan.  The  air  over  the  plains 
of  Lombardy  was  then  as  pure  and  transparent  as 
it  is  here  to-day.  From  the  cathedral  roof  the 
snowy  Alps  are  to  be  seen,  and  on  the  occasion 
to  which  I  refer  a  light  wind  blew  towards  them. 

When  this  air,  so  pure  and  transparent  as  long 
as  the  sunny  plains  of  Lombardy  were  underneath 
to  warm  it,  reached  the  cold  Alps  and  was  tilted 
up  their  sides,  the  aqueous  vapor  it  contained  was 
precipitated  into  clouds  of  scowling  blackness. 

If  you  pour  cold  water  into  a  tumbler  on  a 
fine  summer  day,  a  dimness  will  be  immediately 
produced  by  the  conversion  into  water,  on  the 
outside  surface  of  the  glass,  of  the  aqueous  vapor 
of  the  surrounding  air.  Pushing  the  experiment 
still  further,  you  may  fill  a  suitable  vessel  with 
a  mixture  of  ice  and  salt,  which  is  colder  than  the 
coldest  water.  On  the  hottest  day  in  summer  a 
thick  fur  of  hoar  frost  is  thus  readily  produced 
on  the  chilled  surface  of  the  vessel. 

The  quantity  of  vapor  which  the  atmosphere 
contains  varies  from  day  to  day.  In  England, 
northeasterly  winds  bring  us  dry  air,  because  the 
wind,  before  reaching  us,  has  passed  over  vast 

[92] 


Life  in  the  Alps 


distances  of  dry  ground.  Southwesterly  winds, 
on  the  other  hand,  come  charged  with  the  vapor 
contracted  during  their  passage  over  vast  tracts 
of  ocean.  Such  winds,  in  England,  produce  the 
heaviest  rains. 

And  now  we  approach  a  question  of  very  great 
interest.  The  condensed  vapor  which  reaches 
the  lowlands  as  rain,  falls  usually  upon  the  sum¬ 
mits  as  snow.  To  a  resident  among  the  Alps  it 
is  interesting  to  observe,  the  morning  after  a 
night’s  heavy  rain,  a  limit  sharply  drawn,  at  the 
same  level  along  the  sides  of  the  mountains,  above 
which  they  are  covered  with  snow,  while  below  it 
no  snow  is  to  be  seen.  This  limit  marks  the 
passage  from  snow  to  rain. 

To  the  mountain  snow  all  the  glaciers  of  the 
Alps  owe  their  existence.  By  ordinary  mechan¬ 
ical  pressure  snow  can  be  converted  into  solid  ice  ; 
and,  partly  by  its  own  pressure,  partly  by  the 
freezing  of  infiltrated  water,  the  snow  of  the  moun¬ 
tains  is  converted  into  the  ice  of  the  glaciers. 

The  great  glaciers,  such  as  the  one  now  below 
me,  have  all  large  gathering  grounds,  great  basins 
or  branches  where  the  snow  collects  and  becomes 
gradually  compacted  to  ice.  Partly  by  the  yielding 

[93  ] 


Northern  Europe 


of  its  own  mass,  and  partly  by  sliding  over  its 
bed,  this  ice  moves  downwards  like  a  river. 

We  may  go  further  and  affirm,  with  a  distin¬ 
guished  writer  on  this  subject,  that  “between  a 
glacier  and  a  river  there  is  a  resemblance  so 
complete  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  find  in 
the  latter  a  peculiarity  of  motion  which  does  not 
exist  in  the  former.” 

It  has  been  proved  that,  owing  to  the  friction 
of  its  sides,  which  holds  the  ice  back,  the  motion 
of  a  glacier  is  swiftest  at  its  center;  that,  because  of 
the  friction  against  its  bed,  the  surface  of  a  glacier 
moves  more  rapidly  than  its  bottom;  that,  when 
the  valley  through  which  the  glacier  moves  is  not 
straight,  but  curved,  the  point  of  swiftest  motion 
is  shifted  from  its  center  towards  the  concave  side 
of  the  valley.  All  these  facts  hold  equally  good 
for  a  river. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  that,  with  a  substance 
like  glacier  ice,  tensions  must  occur  which  will 
break  up  the  ice,  forming  clefts  or  fissures  to 
relieve  the  strains.  The  crevasses  of  glaciers  are 
thus  produced. 

John  Tyndall. 


[94] 


AN  OPEN-AIR  PARLIAMENT 


On  Sunday,  the  24th  of  April,  1892,  some 
Swiss  friends  took  four  of  us  Americans  to 
witness  the  open-air  Parliament  of  Appenzell, 
in  which  the  proceedings  were  of  extraordinary 
interest  because  the  constitution  of  the  canton 
was  to  be  amended  by  popular  vote. 

As  the  sun  rose  in  the  eastern  Alps  the  church 
bells  of  all  the  villages  and  towns  in  the  canton 
began  to  ring.  In  half  an  hour  thousands  of 
mountaineers,  shepherds,  herdsmen,  dairymen, 
and  farmers  were  coming  from  every  direction 
along  smooth  white  roads  or  rugged  mountain 
paths  toward  the  place  of  assembly  at  the  village 
of  Trogen.  We  had  never  before  realized  how 
many  people  lived  in  the  little  villages,  hamlets, 
and  by-places  of  these  upper  Alps. 

Every  man  coming  to  vote  at  the  assembly 
wore  a  sword,  not  only  because  this  has  been 
for  centuries  the  custom  of  voters,  but  because 
adherence  to  it  was  prescribed  by  proclamation. 

[95] 


Northern  Europe 


I'he  swords  were  the  emblem  of  Swiss  citizen¬ 
ship.  But  the  festival  was  of  peace,  as  well  as 
law,  without  a  quarrel  or  a  hot  word  in  all  that 
multitude. 

No  man  may  dare  demand  payment  of  a  debt 
on  this  day.  It  is  freedom’s  day  —  the  day  when 
the  richest  and  the  poorest,  the  creditor  and  the 
debtor,  the  president  and  the  peasant  are  alike. 

Such  scenes  as  we  saw  were  taking  place  else¬ 
where  in  the  Alps  this  morning.  In  several  can¬ 
tons  the  men  were  collecting  in  some  meadow 
or  on  some  mountain  slope  to  adopt  laws  by 
popular  vote. 

For  five  hundred  years  this  scene  has  been 
enacted  yearly,  and  it  may  be  enacted  for  a  thou¬ 
sand  years  to  come.  To  these  democratic  shep¬ 
herds  of  the  Alps  no  other  system  seems  possible. 
They  desire  no  political  revolution,  and  they  are 
almost  as  changeless  as  their  mountains. 

Besides  wearing  their  swords,  the  voters  mostly 
carried  umbrellas  as  walking  sticks,  and  all  were 
in  holiday  attire.  Every  man  wore  a  black  hat. 

Most  of  the  men  had  to  come  from  six  to 
twelve  miles,  and  return  home  in  a  single  day 
—  all  for  the  privilege  of  a  vote.  But  the  Swiss 

[96] 


An  Open-Air  Parliament 


do  not  consider  voting  a  privilege  merely.  It  is 
a  solemn,  patriotic  duty,  and  the  citizen  is  fined 
who  does  not  attend  the  meeting  on  the  last 
Sunday  in  April  of  every  year. 

The  Parliament  was  to  meet  at  eleven  o’clock. 
Every  vantage  point,  house  top,  wall,  fence,  or 
height  of  any  kind  was  packed  with  spectators. 
It  was  only  by  the  wand  of  official  authority  that 
we  could  make  our  way  through  the  dense  crowd 
to  the  great  stone  building  where  we  had  seats. 
The  public  square  was  so  crammed  that  it  looked, 
from  our  place  at  an  upper  window,  like  a  sea  of 
black  hats,  apparently  without  room  for  another 
one.  There  was  no  loud  laughter  or  cheering, 
but  the  murmur  of  ten  thousand  in  conversa¬ 
tion  floated  up  to  our  ears.  Directly  below  us 
was  the  raised  platform  on  which  the  officials  of 
state  were  to  stand  during  the  ceremony.  Right 
and  left  at  the  front  of  the  platform  two  swords 
were  fixed,  the  emblems  of  the  state’s  authority. 

All  around,  in  full  view,  were  the  beautiful 
mountains  and  the  green  Alpine  meadows ;  and 
down  yonder,  shining  like  a  mirror,  the  great 
lake.  Over  beyond  the  lake  we  could  see  Ger¬ 
man  land;  and  we  thought  of  the  contrast  which 

[97] 


Northern  Europe 


the  institutions  of  that  monarchical  country,  with 
its  rule  of  force,  presented  to  the  freedom  and 
simple  ways  of  the  people  before  us. 

As  eleven  o’clock  approached,  guards  formed 
a  chain  around  the  black  mass  of  voters  to 
exclude  strangers,  though  there  was  no  foot  of 
vacant  space.  Every  eye  was  bent  on  the  plat¬ 
form.  Suddenly  silence  became  supreme.  Then 
there  was  a  quick  sound  of  drums,  and  four  halle- 
bardicrs ,  clad  in  the  costume  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
mounted  the  platform. 

A  band  struck  up  the  national  hymn.  It  was 
sung  by  the  multitude,  and  then  the  officers  of 
state  ascended  to  their  places. 

The  chief  Landamman,  or  governor,  wore  a 
long  black  mantle  and  a  great  three-cornered 
military  hat.  The  high  constable  and  other  offi¬ 
cials  wore  cocked  hats,  and  mantles  of  white  and 
black. 

As  the  Landamman  stepped  to  the  front  of 
the  platform,  the  change  from  the  sea  of  black 
hats  to  a  sea  of  bare  heads  was  astounding. 
Every  head  was  uncovered  and  bowed  in  prayer. 
After  that,  when  hats  were  on  again,  the  Landam¬ 
man  spoke. 


[98] 


An  Open-Air  Parliament 


pie’s  good.  No  local 

interests,  no  party  or  political  advantages,  only 
the  honor  of  our  country  shall  be  thought  of  in 

[99] 


Northern  Europe 


our  votes.  Let  us  to-day  be  worthy  of  our  free¬ 
dom.  I  declare  the  Parliament  open.” 

Every  man  present  had  in  his  hands  a  copy 
of  the  laws  about  to  be  proposed.  There  was  no 
wrangling  of  debate.  Days  before  coming  here, 
each  of  these  mountaineers  had  fully  made  up  his 
mind  how  to  vote.  There  was  nothing  now  but 
his  own  conscience  to  influence  him  in  his  action. 

Suddenly  the  high  constable  shouted  in  a 
stentorian  voice: 

“  Let  every  man  whom  it  pleases  to  have  this 
law  adopted  hold  up  his  hand.” 

When  the  high  constable  had  estimated  that 
show  of  hands,  he  shouted : 

“  Let  every  man  whom  it  does  not  please  to 
have  this  proposal  adopted  hold  up  his  hand.” 
Usually  the  majorities,  one  way  or  the  other,  are 
so  great  that  counting  is  not  necessary. 

What  a  man  is  this  high  constable !  His 
authority  is  not  insignificant.  He  is  highly 
respected  in  the  canton.  His  voice  could  com¬ 
pletely  drown  the  open-air  speakers  on  American 
or  English  platforms. 

When  he  cries  out,  “  Mr.  Landamman,  fellow- 
citizens,  and  dear  confederates,  do  you  accept  this 

[  100  ] 


An  Open-Air  Parliament 


law?”  every  one  in  the  vast  audience  hears,  and 
the  very  hills  seem  to  echo  his  thundering  tones. 

A  dozen  proposed  laws  were  quickly  put  before 
the  assembly,  and  passed  or  voted  down.  In 
no  case  was  there  a  shout  of  the  victors  or  a 
groan  of  the  defeated.  Even  the  constitution  was 
amended  without  a  cheer.  Aside  from  the  loud 
and  solemn  calls  of  the  high  constable  there  was 
silence. 

“  Fellow-citizens  and  dear  confederates,  is  it 
your  will  that  this  clause  be  added  to  our  consti¬ 
tution?”  Instantly  the  black  sea  of  hats  was 
hidden  by  the  white  sea  of  uplifted  hands.  The 
spectator  was  astonished  that  the  important  act 
should  be  done  so  suddenly. 

In  this  parliament  are  no  signs  of  partisanship. 
Only  one  question  seemed  in  every  voter’s  mind: 
Is  this  proposed  law7  for  the  common  good? 
There  was  not  a  demagogue  or  a  wire-puller  or 
a  political  boss  within  a  mile  of  the  place. 

A  new  insurance  law  vras  soon  proposed  to  the 
assembly.  Its  merits  had  been  under  discussion 
for  months.  Every  mind  was  made  up. 

“  Will  you  have  this  law,  citizens  and  confeder¬ 
ates?”  the  high  constable  called. 

[t°i] 


Northern  Europe 


There  was  a  feeble,  silent  show  of  affirmative 
hands,  which  proved  clearly  that  the  answer  was 
to  be  in  the  negative;  and  when  the  second  call 
was  made,  the  uplifted  hands  proved  the  measure 
overwhelmingly  lost.  The  officials  who  prepared 
and  proposed  it  were  standing  on  the  platform 
and  witnessed  the  defeat ;  but  there  was  not  a 
word  nor  a  frown  from  them.  They  had  learned 
the  people’s  will,  and  they  turned  to  other  business. 

All  the  officers  of  state  are  elected  by  like 
shows  of  hands.  There  is  no  speaking,  except 
that  the  aspirants  for  the  position  of  high  con¬ 
stable  may  speak  five  minutes  each,  nominate 
themselves,  and  prove  their  voices.  During  his 
speech  the  constable  in  office  puts  his  regalia 
and  hat  aside,  and  resumes  them  only  in  case  he 
is  reelected.  The  newly  elected  officers  are  con¬ 
ducted  to  the  platform  by  the  hallcbardiers ,  and 
the  literal  mantles  of  office  are  transferred  to  their 
shoulders  in  the  presence  of  the  multitude. 

The  installation,  like  the  election,  was  accom¬ 
plished  in  a  few  minutes.  Not  only  had  impor¬ 
tant  laws  been  passed,  but  officers  had  been  elected, 
and  a  change  in  the  constitution  adopted  in  two 
hours. 


[ 102  ] 


An  Open-Air  Parliament 


Then  came  the  administering  of  the  oath  of 
allegiance.  Every  head  was  bared  and  every 
hand  held  toward  heaven,  while  in  a  slow  and 
solemn  voice  ten  thousand  patriot  Swiss  repeated 
with  the  Landamman  the  declaration  that  they 
would  be  good  citizens,  true  to  Switzerland, 
observers  of  the  laws  they  had  made,  and  faith¬ 
ful  to  the  common  good.  This  solemn  oath, 
made  in  the  open  sunlight  and  witnessed  by  the 
everlasting  mountains,  seemed  doubly  made  in 
the  presence  of  God. 

In  another  half  hour  the  people  were  peacefully 
wending  their  way  along  the  white  roads  and  up 


zigzag  mountain  paths  to  their  homes.  They  had 
done  their  duty  as  free  citizens,  and  with  a  cere- 
mony  as  simple  and  solemn  as  a  sacrament  itself. 


S.  H.  M.  Byers. 


[  3 


DOWN  THE  MOSELLE 


The  river  Moselle,  often  called  “The  Bride  of 
the  Rhine,”  is  even  more  picturesque  than  the 
Rhine  itself.  It  is  more  winding,  and  also  nar¬ 
rower,  so  that  the  voyager  is  nearer  the  beauty 
and  quaintness  of  its  shores.  Its  bordering  hills, 
although  no  higher  than  those  along  the  Rhine, 
are  at  least  equally  impressive,  while  the  valleys 
and  ravines  which  wind  away  between  them  are 
more  irregular  and  inviting. 

A  rowing  trip  down  the  Moselle  is  safe,  easy, 
and  full  of  pleasure.  Imagine  yourself  gliding 
down  stream,  with  charming  Treves  fading  into 
the  distance  as  the  afternoon  shadows  lengthen. 
You  are  at  the  oars,  pulling  with  slow,  even 
strokes.  Your  friend,  in  the  stern,  holds  the 
tiller.  You  are  fairly  under  way,  and  already  the 
scenes  on  either  hand  begin  to  interest  you. 

Here,  for  instance,  you  pass  a  company  of  Ger¬ 
man  infantry,  bathing.  They  keep  their  ranks, 
and  at  signals  upon  the  bugle  throw  off  their 

[  io4  ] 


Down  the  Moselle 


clothing,  plunge,  still  in  line,  into  the  stream, 
and  a  few  moments  later  emerge  and  dress.  One 
wonders  if  they  eat,  drink,  and  sleep,  in  company 
formation. 

Soon  you  round  a  bend  and  float  for  a  mile 
or  two  between  green  meadows,  behind  which  lie 


villages  embowered  in  trees.  A  rude  scow,  laden 
with  peasants  returning  from  work  and  singing 
some  evening  hymn,  crosses  your  course. 

Now  it  grows  dark,  and  at  the  next  little  village 
you  land,  under  the  lee  of  a  jetty,  and  moor  your 
boat  for  the  night.  Until  you  have  almost  reached 
the  Rhine,  you  may  safely  leave  anything  in  the 
boat  overnight.  You  find  your  way  into  the 
village  and  soon  are  settled  snugly  at  the  inn. 

C  io5  ] 


Northern  Europe 


Cold  pork  and  ham,  boiled  eggs,  rye  and  sweet¬ 
ened  white  bread,  cakes,  with  plenty  of  whatever 
fruit  is  in  season,  and  beer  and  wine  if  you  wish, 
form  your  evening  meal.  The  thick  feather  pil¬ 
lows  upon  your  bed,  one  of  which  is  intended  to 
serve  as  a  blanket,  are  rather  warm,  and  if  your 
pitcher  held  five  times  as  much  water  you  would 
be  better  pleased.  But  you  are  so  healthily  tired 
that  you  sleep  soundly  until  the  bell  of  the  neigh¬ 
boring  church  rouses  you  next  morning. 

After  breakfast  the  maidservant,  acting  as 
porter,  carries  your  luggage  to  the  boat.  Before 
long,  perhaps,  the  shores  in  front  of  you  look  sur¬ 
prisingly  white,  and,  as  you  float  down  between 
them,  you  find  them  covered  with  linen  which 
has  been  washed  and  spread  out  to  dry  and 
bleach.  Many  lively  groups  of  washerwomen  are 
passed,  who  keep  up  an  incessant  spat-spatting 
of  their  sheets  and  pillowcases  while  they  chat 
and  joke. 

Sometimes  for  miles  the  hillsides  rise  almost 
from  the  water’s  edge,  and  are  covered  with  care¬ 
fully  cultivated  vineyards.  Now  and  then  you 
pass  a  considerable  town,  and  hear  a  band  playing 
in  the  garden  of  its  chief  hotel.  Sometimes  the 

C  106  ] 


Down  the  Moselle 


[  io7  ] 


Northern  Europe 


river  is  so  winding  that  you  row  for  two  hours 
and  a  dozen  miles  in  order  to  reach  a  point  only  a 
single  mile,  easily  walked  in  fifteen  minutes,  from 
your  starting  place. 

The  Moselle  castles  are  less  famous  than  those 
on  the  Rhine,  perhaps,  but  they  are  quite  as 
picturesque  and  equally  worth  visiting.  Usually 
they  stand,  protectingly,  upon  high  places  above 
the  villages.  The  most  striking  castle  of  all  is 
Schloss  Eltz,  three  miles  inland  from  Moselkern, 
rising  upon  its  knoll  above  the  mass  of  foliage 
like  some  great  rock  above  the  waves  of  the 
ocean.  It  is  one  of  the  best-preserved  specimens 
of  the  mediaeval  architecture  in  all  Germany. 


Morton  Dexter. 


A  RUSSIAN  VILLAGE 


The  first  impression  produced  upon  a  stranger 
by  a  village  in  Great  Russia  is  undoubtedly 
gloomy.  The  small,  one-storied  cottages  have 

.1. 


A  Russian  Village  Scene 


neither  flowers  in  front  nor  clean,  white-curtained 
windows.  They  look  depressingly  dark.  The 
unwhitewashed  walls  are  built  of  thick  logs,  if 
there  are  woods  in  the  neighborhood,  or  else  of 
rough  stone.  The  windows,  of  which  there  are 

[  109  ] 


Northern  Europe 


never  more  than  three,  are  small,  with  tiny  panes 
of  glass, —  for  glass  is  expensive. 

The  straw  roofs  are  unsightly,  as  in  most  cases 
they  are  unthatched  and  are  merely  made  out  of 
bundles  of  straw  held  together  with  straw  ropes. 
Sometimes,  when  fodder  is  scarce,  it  will  even 
happen  that  the  roofs  are  removed  to  feed  the 
cattle,  and  the  cottages  then  look  still  more  for¬ 
lorn.  Many  of  them  have  only  one  room  and  a 
small  passage,  entered  by  two  or  three  steps. 
When  there  are  two  rooms  they  are  built  on 
opposite  sides  of  the  passage. 

The  interiors  are  as  poor  as  the  outside.  The 
walls  are  neither  papered  nor  whitewashed,  and 
a  fourth  of  the  room,  sometimes  even  a  third,  is 
occupied  by  a  large  brick  or  beaten  clay  oven. 
The  top  of  this  is  generally  used  as  a  bed  for  the 
aged  or  sick,  and  as  a  nursery  for  the  children. 

Two  deal  forms  and  a  deal  table  are  the  furni¬ 
ture.  These  are  placed  along  the  two  principal 
walls,  and  here  also  is  fixed  cornerwise  a  little 
shelf  for  the  sacred  pictures,  painted  in  dark 
colors  on  wood,  before  which  hangs  a  little  oil 
lamp  to  be  lighted  on  holy  days.  A  small  bottle 
of  holy  water,  a  colored  Easter  egg,  a  bunch  of 

[no] 


A  Russian  Village 


dried  willows  in  bud,  —  a  substitute  for  the  palm, 
—  these  or  similar  relics  complete  the  decorations 
of  that  side  of  the  room. 

In  the  corner,  nearer  the  stove,  is  a  bedstead, 
consisting  generally  of  two  or  three  planks  fas¬ 
tened  to  the  wall ;  there  are  seldom  sheets  or 
blankets  on  it.  This  bed  is  reserved  for  the 
father  and  mother ;  the  other  members  of  the 
family  sleep  on  the  benches  or  on  the  stove. 
Sometimes  there  is  a  little  loft  made  of  planks 
fixed  underneath  the  ceiling  where  three  or  four 
persons  can  lie.  The  fourth  corner  by  the  stove 
contains  the  crockery  and  a  few  kitchen  utensils. 
Under  the  bed  there  may  be  a  large,  unpainted 
wooden  chest,  wherein  all  family  linen  and  cloth¬ 
ing  are  kept.  The  two- roomed  cottages  may  be 
richer  in  a  few  articles,  a  brass  samovar ,  or  tea 
urn,  perhaps,  but  this  is  the  exception. 

The  village  looks  even  less  attractive  than  it 
might,  owing  to  the  absence  of  trees  and  shrubs 
near  the  houses,  and  the  unpaved  condition  of  the 
road,  which  in  the  rainy  season  is  so  deep  in  mud 
that  the  pigs  can  bury  themselves  up  to  their 
snouts  in  it.  Some  of  the  more  prosperous  cot¬ 
tagers  try  to  add  some  external  decoration,  and 

[in] 


Northern  Europe 


here  and  there  artistically  carved  porches  and 
window  shutters  may  be  seen  ;  but  these  orna¬ 
ments  are  lost  in  their  gloomy  setting. 

The  village,  however,  is  not  altogether  lacking 
in  brightness.  There  is  often  a  river  close  by 
with  very  picturesque  banks  and  a  mill,  and  there 
is  always  the  church,  built  in  Byzantine  style 
and  standing  in  the  most  prominent  position. 
It  is  whitewashed  and  generally  surrounded  by 
an  inclosure  planted  with  lilacs  and  acacias. 

The  priest’s  house,  too,  is  pleasant  to  look  at, 
as  a  rule,  with  its  garden  and  white-curtained 
windows ;  and  if  the  village  boasts  a  resident 
“  squire,”  the  visitor  may  be  still  further  cheered 
by  the  sight  of  a  large  house,  roofed  with  green 
iron  and  having  an  extensive  garden  and  other 
luxuries  obtainable  only  by  the  rich.  Nowadays 
there  is  sometimes  a  school,  though  this  rarely 
differs  in  appearance  from  the  usual  peasant’s 
cottage,  and  even  a  cottage  hospital  may  be  found 
in  some  villages,  built  and  maintained  by  the 
local  government ;  but  both  are,  unfortunately, 
very  rare. 

Nevertheless,  as  regards  the  land,  the  peasants 
in  Great  Russia  are  better  off  than  those  of  many 

[  112  ] 


A  Russian  Village 


other  countries,  for  the  little  they  have  belongs 
to  them  ;  their  cottages  and  the  ground  at  the 
back  are  their  own.  From  time  immemorial  the 
land  has  been  the  communal  property  of  the  vil¬ 
lage.  There  are  no  private  owners  except  the 
squire  and  the  few  who  have  bought  some  land 
from  him,  and  the  old-time  custom  of  supplying 
every  inhabitant  of  the  village  with  some  land  is 
still  strictly  observed. 

While  woods  and  pastures  are  used  in  com¬ 
mon,  the  arable  land  is  divided  into  three  parts, 
according  to  its  quality,  and  each  household  is 
allotted  a  fair  share  in  these  three  parts.  The 
size  of  each  allotment  depends  in  the  first  instance 
on  the  quantity  of  land  held  by  the  community, 
and  then  on  the  number  of  male  workers  in  the 
family.  Each  household  cultivates  its  plots  inde¬ 
pendently,  but  no  hedges  are  grown  between  the 
divisions,  only  a  small  furrow  marking  them  off; 
and  for  this  reason  Russian  grain  fields,  although 
cultivated  in  small  allotments,  are  well  adapted 
for  the  use  of  steam  implements. 

Only  poverty  and  ignorance  prevent  the  peas¬ 
ants  of  Great  Russia  from  growing  their  grain 
with  modern  methods  and  improvements.  In 

[  ”3] 


Northern  Europe 


South  Russia,  where  the  peasants  are  a  little 
better  off,  the  fields  in  many  places  resound  with 
the  whir  and  whistle  of  labor-saving  machinery. 

This  system  of  property  in  land  has  developed 
a  strong  village  organization,  called  the  mir.  All 
that  concerns  the  village  as  a  whole  is  decided  by 
the  mir  and  carried  out  by  the  community.  It  is 
not  an  elected  body ;  its  members  are  made  up 
of  all  those  workers  who  have  attained  their 
majority.  Every  head  of  a  household,  women 
included,  if  there  is  not  a  son  of  ripe  age,  has  a 
voice  in  the  assembly. 

There  is  no  voting  in  the  mir,  no  chairman, 
no  secretary,  no  special  time  or  place  of  meeting. 
Whenever  a  matter  turns  up  which  concerns  the 
whole  village  the  men  and  women  gather  together 
at  some  place  of  their  own  choosing  —  in  sum¬ 
mer  time  this  is  always  out  of  doors — and  talk 
over  the  affair  until  they  arrive  at  an  agreement. 
If  the  subject  is  one  of  importance,  the  meeting 
will  be  convoked  again  and  again  until  it  is  set¬ 
tled;  for  unanimity  is  indispensable  in  the  mir 
decisions. 

Besides  questions  concerning  the  division,  pur¬ 
chase,  and  renting  of  land,  the  mir  decides  about 

[  ”4] 


A  Russian  Village 


the  building  of  churches,  the  opening  of  schools, 
the  digging  of  wells,  and  the  making  of  roads 
and  bridges.  It  also  fixes  the  dates  for  plowing, 
haymaking,  and  harvesting.  When  these  are 
arranged,  men,  women,  and  children  all  turn  out 
and  work  to  the  accompaniment  of  cheery  laugh¬ 
ter  and  songs.  Indeed,  in  passing  through  a 
village  when  some  communal  work  is  in  hand, 
such  as  building  a  bridge  or  repairing  a  road, 
one  might  easily  fancy  the  villagers  were  out  for 
recreation,  so  bright  and  merry  do  they  look  and 
so  easily  does  the  work  seem  to  be  done. 

The  grain  fields,  although  cultivated  separately, 
must  all  be  harvested  at  the  same  time,  because, 
when  the  grain  is  cut,  the  land  becomes  the  pas¬ 
ture  for  the  cattle  of  the  whole  village.  The 
driving  out  of  the  cattle  devolves  upon  a  com¬ 
munal  headman,  who  is  himself  a  characteristic 
figure  in  the  Russian  village.  He  is  generally  a 
lonely  old  man,  who  is  appointed  to  this  post  by 
the  mir;  and  each  household  contributes  to  his 
food,  clothing,  and  shelter.  In  some  villages  the 
mir  builds  him  a  cottage,  in  others  each  family 
receives  him  in  turn  ;  but  the  mir  provides  for  his 
wants  and  punishes  him  for  any  neglect  of  duty. 

[  1 1 5  ] 


Northern  Europe 


In  harvest  time  the  fields  are  a  beautiful  sight. 
All  the  men  wear  straw  hats  and  snow-white 
shirts  and  trousers  belted  with  a  gay  woolen 
girdle,  the  handiwork  of  their  women  folk.  The 
women  themselves  are  clad  in  finely  embroidered 


In  Festive  Dress 


white  linen  shirts  and 
bright-colored  skirts 
and  kerchiefs,  also  the 
result  of  their  own  in¬ 
dustry.  On  any  other 
occasion  a  woman 
might  wear  some  arti- 

O 

cle  she  had  bought,  but 
when  harvesting  it  is 
her  pride  to  wear 
everything  of  her  own 
fashioning. 

O 

Narrow  as  the  village 

o 


life  may  be,  it  still  re¬ 
tains  many  good  old  customs.  If  a  family  is  in 
distress  through  death  or  illness  of  the  father, 
and  too  poor  to  hire  labor  at  harvest  time,  help 
is  always  forthcoming.  When  the  grain  is  reaped 
and  brought  home  and  there  is  nothing  where¬ 
with  to  entertain  the  harvesters,  they  themselves 


[w6] 


A  Russian  Village 


supply  the  materials  for  a  feast,  without  which  it 
would  be  considered  disrespectful  and  unlucky 
to  close  the  day. 

“Bees ’’are  an  institution  in  the  Russian  vil¬ 
lage.  All  summer  they  are  in  full 
swing,  especially  among  the  women. 

Each  one’s  flax  is  gathered  and 
beaten  in  turn,  the  potatoes  are 
dug  and  stored,  and  so  on.  But  at 
the  end  of  every  day  the  evening 
air  is  full  of  song  and  dance,  for 
in  Russia  they  do  not  forget  to 
play  after  work. 

In  fact,  the  village  youth  lose  no 
opportunity  of  meeting  for  amuse¬ 
ment.  In  the  summer  nights  there 
are  the  national  songs  and  dances 
out  of  doors.  In  winter  the  girls 
meet  at  one  another’s  houses  to  A  Russian  Type 
spin,  and  the  young  men  join  them  to  sing  and 
play  games  while  spindle  and  distaff  are  plying. 

The  Russian  peasants  are  a  striking  example 
of  restricted  needs  and  self-supply.  They  buy 
very  few  articles  of  either  food  or  clothing.  Rye 
bread,  cabbage  soup,  potatoes,  or  a  porridge  of 

[  '  l7  ] 


Northern  Europe 


buckwheat  or  millet  form  their  usual  dinner.  On 
Sunday  a  dish  of  milk  or  eggs  may  be  added. 
From  time  to  time  a  sheep  or  pig  is  killed,  and 
then  there  is  a  little  meat.  Only  the  richer  fami¬ 
lies  or  those  who  live  near  the  great  towns  drink 
tea,  the  poorer  having  tea  only  when  they  are  ill; 
and  the  only  article  of  everyday  use  which  they 
buy  is  salt. 

The  clothing  is  altogether  homemade.  Each 
family  grows  the  flax  out  of  which  the  women 
make  the  linen.  Every  woman  may  not  know 
how  to  fix  the  loom,  but  nearly  all  know  how 
to  weave.  That  very  necessary  winter  garment, 
the  sheepskin,  is  from  their  own  sheep,  as  is  the 
woolen  cloth  of  which  the  overcoat  is  made. 

The  usual  costume  for  a  man  consists  of  a 
white  linen  shirt  worn  over  the  trousers  and 
belted  in  about  the  waist ;  the  trousers  are  of  the 
same  coarse  linen  and  are  worn  with  the  ends 
tucked  into  the  top-boots.  But  as  a  rule  boots 
are  worn  only  by  the  richer  peasants,  and  even 
among  them  the  old  people  keep  them  for  Sunday 
wear.  The  general  foot  gear  is  bast  (bark  fiber) 
shoes,  the  legs  being  wrapped  in  a  bandage  of 
linen  or  woolen,  according  to  the  season.  The 

[  1 1 8  ] 


A  Russian  Village 


shoe  strings  keep  these  leg  wraps  from  unfasten¬ 
ing,  and  the  trousers  are  tucked  inside  them.  An 
overcoat  with  a  girdle,  a  conical  hat,  and  a  pair  of 
warm  gloves  complete  the  outfit. 

The  women’s  dress  is  extremely  picturesque. 
They  wear  a  white  linen  shirt  with  long,  full 
sleeves  ;  over  this  a  short,  colored  skirt  and  a 
long  apron  ;  shoes  or  boots  similar  to  the  men’s, 
but  hats  never  ;  their  heads  are  covered  with  a 
kerchief  or  shawl,  which  on  Sundays  is  replaced 
by  an  embroidered  headdress  for  married  women, 
while  the  girls  twine  bright  ribbons  in  their  own 
long  plaits. 

Nowhere,  perhaps,  has  woman  such  a  wide 
sphere  of  activity  as  in  Great  Russia.  There  she 
is  the  gardener,  the  dairymaid,  the  sheep-shearer, 
the  spinner,  the  dyer,  the  weaver,  and  the  sewer  of 
the  cloth  when  it  is  woven.  She  works,  more¬ 
over,  beside  the  man  in  the  field,  in  the  wood,  and 
on  the  river.  In  several  parts  of  central  Russia 
the  men  are  compelled  to  leave  the  village  for 
many  months  in  the  year  to  earn  a  little  money, 
and  at  such  times  all  the  field  work  is  done  by 
women.  Their  home  industries  are  various  and 
of  a  high  quality.  In  the  small  markets  of  the 

[  "9] 


Northern  Europe 


smaller  towns,  which  are  held  once  a  week,  one 
sees  hundreds  of  peasant  women  selling  garden, 
dairy,  and  poultry  produce,  as  well  as  rolls  of  finest 
linen,  tablecloths,  towels,  fine  laces,  and  artistic 
embroideries. 

Yet  with  all  these  conditions  favorable  to 
prosperity,  the  Russian  peasant  is,  as  a  rule,  terri¬ 
bly  poor.  This  is  due  to  several  causes.  The 
first  and  most  important  is  the  smallness  of 
the  allotments,  which  necessitates  the  renting  of 
other  land,  especially  meadow  land,  for  which 
the  rent  is  much  too  high. 

In  1 86 1,  when  the  peasants  were  liberated,  the 
government  forced  the  serf  owners  to  sell  so  much 
land  to  the  communes.  For  this  the  government 
paid,  and  the  peasants  are  bound  to  refund  this 
money  within  the  next  forty-seven  years.  But 
the  land  which  the  owners  were  willing  to  give  up 
has  already  proved  insufficient ;  since  then  the 
agricultural  population  has  greatly  increased ; 
consequently  the  allotments  have  grown  ridicu¬ 
lously  small,  and  pasture  lands  are  especially 
scarce,  as  the  landowners  retained  nearly  all  of 
them.  The  lack  of  suitable  pasturage  is  a  very 
serious  difficulty. 


[  I20J 


A  Russian  Village 


Although  the  allotments  produce  little,  it 
would  be  possible  to  manage  were  it  not  for  the 
ruinous  rate  of  taxes.  It  is  usual  for  a  peasant 
family  to  pay  from  twenty-five  to  thirty-five 
dollars,  besides  all  the  indirect  taxes,  which  are 
heavy,  especially  as  the  average  income  of  the 
peasant  is  very  small.  To  pay  rates  and  taxes  he 
sells  his  grain,  at  times,  for  half  price,  and  then 
for  nine  months  out  of  twelve  the  family  eats 
bread  adulterated  with  all  sorts  of  things;  really 
pure  rye  bread  is  eaten  only  in  exceptionally  good 
years. 

Any  one  looking  at  a  Russian  peasant,  espe¬ 
cially  at  plowing  time,  can  see  that  both  he  and 
his  horses  are  permanently  underfed.  The  man 
is  small,  his  face  and  hair  are  colorless,  and  his 
expression  is  hopeless.  Watch  him  at  his  dinner 
in  the  field ;  it  will  consist  of  a  piece  of  dark, 
sour,  unwholesome  rye  bread  and  onions  washed 
down  with  a  sour  drink  made  of  bran  and  a  little 
flour. 

His  horse  is  not  so  tall  as  an  English  yearling; 
it  is  mere  skin  and  bone.  In  the  spring  the  horse 
does  not  get  enough  even  of  the  old  rotten  roof 
The  harness  is  made  of  scraps  of  rope 

r 121  ] 


straw. 


Northern  Europe 


and  leather ;  the  plow  is  miserably  small  and 
scratches  the  soil  just  a  few  inches  deep,  over 
which  plowing  a  wooden  harrow  will  be  dragged. 

The  Russian  peasant’s  intelligence  is  unques¬ 
tionable.  He  is  quick  to  learn  new  things  and  to 
adapt  himself  to  new  conditions  —  witness  those 
who  migrate  to  Siberia,  where  the  land  is  free, 
and  those  who  find  their  way  to  America,  where 
there  are  free  schools.  What  wonders  might  we 
not  justly  expect  to  be  worked  in  the  little  vil¬ 
lages  of  Great  Russia  by  liberty  and  education  ! 

The  Princess  Kropotkin. 


L  *22] 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  SWITZERLAND 


A  group  of  Swiss  boys,  a  dozen  perhaps  in  all, 
are  playing  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  my  neighbor’s 
house  close  by.  It  is  Saturday  afternoon,  and 
my  neighbor’s  son,  a  bright  lad  of  fifteen  years, 
acts  as  host  and  leader  of  the  sports. 

I  note  their  animated  faces  and  the  bounding 
elasticity  of  their  movements.  Still  there  is  great 
courtesy  in  their  demeanor  and  bearing  toward 
one  another.  They  are  hearty,  at  times  loud,  but 
not  for  a  moment  coarse  or  boisterous.  Courtesy 
is  one  of  the  characteristics  of  Swiss  boys,  at 
work  or  at  play. 

These  Swiss  boys,  on  their  playday  and  in 
their  games,  are  to  present  to  me,  and  to  you 
through  me,  an  illustration  of  each  of  the  three 
chief  characteristics  of  Swiss  civilization. 

As  the  afternoon  wears  on  they  play  suc¬ 
cessively  at  “  school,”  at  “  soldiering,”  and  at 
“  government.”  Let  us  watch  the  “  school  ”  first. 
It  is  not  very  long  in  session,  for  I  fancy  the 

[  1 23  ] 


Northern  Europe 


next  scene  is  already  in  the  minds  of  the  boy 
actors. 

My  neighbor’s  son  is  on  the  tribune.  There  is 
a  brief  and  dignified  opening.  A  few  common¬ 
places  of  nominal  instruction  are  gone  through 
with,  a  few  dogmas  as  to  conduct,  respect  to 
superiors,  manners,  are  recited  by  the  master, 
and  soon  the  boys  are  scattered  over  the  lawn. 

Now  they  have  unconsciously  brought  to  the 
attention  of  the  observing  stranger  the  subject  of 
education  in  Switzerland.  I  know  of  no  country 
where  education  is  so  universal.  It  is  compul¬ 
sory  on  every  class.  All  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men  must  submit  their  children  to  its  discipline. 
It  is  the  boast  of  the  republic  that  an  illiterate 
native  is  an  impossibility.  Mingling  with  all 
classes,  I  have  -never  met  an  exception  to  this 
rule,  nor  have  I  heard  of  one. 

The  schools  are  admirable  in  order  and  dis¬ 
cipline.  The  schoolhouse  is,  almost  without 
exception,  the  best  building  in  the  town. 

The  hours  are  early  —  not  later  than  seven  or 
eight  in  summer,  according  to  the  age  of  pupils. 
There  are  frequent  short  recesses,  and  an  inter¬ 
mission  of  two  or  three  hours  at  noon. 

[  I24  ] 


A  Glimpse  of  Switzerland 


The  punishments  are  mild  —  moral  rather  than 
physical.  The  jurisdiction  of  the  teacher  begins 
as  soon  as  the  pupil  crosses  his  own  doorway,  on 
his  route  to  school.  From  that  moment  he  is 
responsible  to  the  teacher  for  his  conduct,  and  of 
conduct  manners  are  recognized  as  distinctively 
a  part ;  thence  results  a  deportment  in  the  street 
from  which  the  children  of  our  own  country 
may  well  take  this  lesson,  that  there  is  nothing 
unmanly  in  deference  and  courtesy.  I  seldom 
meet  a  schoolboy  or  schoolgirl  who  does  not  greet 
me  with  respectful  salutation ;  the  boy  touching 
his  hat  or  cap,  not  with  the  air  of  servility,  but 
with  true  courtesy. 

Few  in  number  but  brave  in  spirit,  the  boys 
now  array  themselves  in  martial  order  under  the 
flag  of  the  republic  —  white  cross  on  red  field  — 
and  march  by  platoon  or  column,  having  as  their 
commander  my  neighbor’s  son. 

From  the  beginning  of  his  twentieth  to  the 
end  of  his  forty-fourth  year,  every  Swiss  citizen, 
with  a  few  specified  exceptions  in  favor  of  those 
holding  certain  public  relations,  is  subject  to 
military  service.  In  the  active  army,  every  man 
from  twenty  to  thirty-two  is  liable  to  service,  and 

[  I25  ] 


Northern  Europe 


trained  accordingly;  in  the  first  reserve,  every 
man  from  thirty-two  to  forty-four;  and  in  the 

second  reserve,  every 
man  from  seventeen  to 
fifty  who  is  not  already 
enrolled  in 
one  or  the 
other  of  the 


former  classes. 

This  reserve 
can  only  be 
called  out  in 
time  of  war, 
and  cannot  be 
sent  beyond 
the  frontier. 

The  sun  has 
not  yet  set, 
though  its  rays  slant  more  and  more,  and  the 
shadows  of  the  trees  reach  halfway  across  the 


[126] 


A  Glimpse  of  Switzerland 


river.  The  boys  have  one  more  lesson  for  us, 
and  that  is  of  a  peaceful  tone.  They  are  going 
to  play  at  “  government.”  My  neighbor’s  son  is 
to  be  the  President  of  the  Confederation  and 
six  of  the  others  are  to  act  as  members  of  the 
Federal  Council  —  a  body  corresponding  almost 
exactly  to  our  Cabinet. 

Here,  as  in  our  own  country,  —  it  is  hardly 
so  in  the  great  republic  of  France,  —  the  path 
to  distinction  and  the  highest  public  position  is 
open  to  the  possessor  of  genuine  merit,  irrespec¬ 
tive  of  claims  of  birth  or  wealth  or  military  glory. 
The  President  of  the  Confederation  receives  a 
salary  hardly  larger  than  that  I  pay  my  confiden¬ 
tial  clerk,  and  the  Federal  Councilor  receives 
still  less;  but  theirs  is  the  lofty  satisfaction  of 
disinterested  public  service. 

It  is  their  proud  claim  and  distinction  in  life 
that  they  administer  the  government  of  a  free, 
enlightened  people;  that  in  this  position  they 
have  the  respect  of  all  other  nations  and  govern¬ 
ments;  that  more  often  than  any  of  the  other 
powers  in  Europe  they  are  selected  as  the  arbitra¬ 
tors  of  great  public  and  international  controver¬ 
sies;  that  their  people  are  prosperous  and  content 

[  127  ] 


Northern  Europe 


beyond  those  of  any  other  country  save  our  own ; 
that  they  look  back  upon  a  longer  history  of 
continuous  liberty  than  any  other  government 
of  the  world,  and  that  in  their  present  purposes 
they  represent  the  men  “  who  freed  their  country 
and  swore  to  keep  it  free,”  faithful  successors  to 
faithful  founders. 

True  it  is,  now  and  always,  that  “the  child  is 
father  of  the  man.”  The  boys  on  the  lawn  are 
fathers  of  the  men  who  are  to  rule  the  state,  as 
representatives  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people, 
to  fill  or  lead  the  armies  of  the  republic,  to  edu¬ 
cate  the  people. 

And  now  the  sun  at  last  goes  down  on  this 
buoyant  and  instructive  Saturday  afternoon.  The 
trees  cast  their  shadows  quite  across  the  river, 
and  the  Jungfrau  is  beginning  to  put  on  the 
delicate  blush  of  the  coming  Alpine  glow.  The 
boys  must  have  their  supper,  and  go  home. 

John  D.  Washburn. 


[128] 


HOLLAND’S  WAR  WITH  THE  SEA 


?If  we  look  at  the  map  of  northern  Europe,  we 
shall  find  that  the  Netherlands,  or  the  “low¬ 
lands,”  lie  just  opposite  the  narrowest  part  of 
the  English  Channel,  and  south  of  the  sea  which 
is  between  England  and  Norway.  When  the 
west  and  northwest  winds  drive  the  waters  from 
the  English  Channel  to  meet  those  deflected  by 
Norway’s  shore,  they  fill  up  the  North  Sea  and 
seek  their  old  course  across  the  Netherlands. 

The  Dutchmen  first  fought  against  the  sea 
only.  They  built  great  embankments,  called 
dikes,  along  the  coast,  and  faced  them  with  blocks 
of  stone.  Where  the  waves  beat  the  hardest, 
men  drove  in  rows  of  logs  or  piles  as  close 
together  as  the  teeth  of  a  comb.  But.  while  this 
was  being  done,  the  rivers  were  rising  above  their 
banks,  and  this  made  it  necessary  to  heighten 
the  banks  until  at  last  the  beds  of  the  streams 
were  higher  than  the  land  on  either  side.  Here 
again  dikes  and  piles  were  needed. 

[  I29  ] 


Northern  Europe 


In  some  places  the  sea  and  the  rivers  have  active 
warfare.  The  river  carries  sand  out  into  the  sea,  and 
the  sea  hurls  it  back  upon  the  coast  and  into  the 
river’s  mouth.  Dredges  can  keep  the  rivers  from 
choking,  but  no  human  power  could  shovel  the 
sand  thrown  up  about  the  rivers’  outlets  into  the 
sea  again.  So  sand  ridges  or  dunes  are  formed. 

These  were  long  regarded  as  an  additional 
fortress  against  the  sea,  and  for  a  time  they  were 
helpful ;  but  as  they  increased  in  size  they  ob¬ 
structed  the  wind,  which  carried  them  along  until 
they  not  only  buried  productive  lands  beneath  a 
blighting  mass,  hut  threatened  to  leave  unpro¬ 
tected  some  vulnerable  point  along  the  shore. 

So  it  becomes  necessary  to  check  the  migra¬ 
tions  of  these  shifting  ridges  —  to  hold  them 
where  they  are  useful  and  to  keep  them  from 
going  where  they  are  not  wanted.  This  is  done 
by  sowing  upon  their  sides  a  species  of  reed 
grass.  This  grass  grows  rapidly  even  in  the 
sand,  and  very  soon  the  roots,  forming  a  sort  of 
vegetable  cement,  aid  in  holding  the  soil  in  place. 

We  might  think  that  now  the  good  Dutchman 
could  sleep  without  even  dreaming  of  an  overflow, 
for  are  not  the  dikes  secured  by  great  piles  from  the 

[  130] 


Holland’s  War  with  the  Sea 


Black  Forest  or  logs  of  Norway  pine  ?  And  will 
not  the  grass  growing  day  by  day  prove  superior 
to  the  remorseless  wind  and  stop  the  drifting  of 
the  walls  of  sand?  But  absolute  security  does  not 
appear  to  be  included  in  the  blessings  allotted  to 
the  people  of  brave  little  Holland. 

Sometimes,  after  heavy  storms,  fissures  were 
found  through  the  dunes  —  fissures  which,  if  left 
unchecked,  would  lead  the  invading  waters  in 
upon  the  land.  It  was  a  long  time  before  the 
Dutchmen  discovered  that  rabbits  caused  these 
crevices.  The  roots  of  the  reed  grass  were 
tempting  tidbits  along  a  shore  line  so  destitute 
of  other  food,  and  the  soft  sand  was  a  slight 
obstacle  to  the  burrowing  bunny. 

This  sand,  moistened  by  its  nearness  to  the 
sea,  was  like  the  sand  of  the  molder;  hence  the 
rabbits’  tunnels  did  not  cave  in,  but  remained, 
until  eventually  the  dune  became  honeycombed. 
With  the  rise  of  the  waters  these  tunnels  con¬ 
ducted  streams  —  small  at  first,  but  held  in  by 
crumbling  walls,  and  liable  to  swell  to  large  and 
even  dangerous  proportions.  And  so  the  Dutch¬ 
man  makes  war  on  the  rabbit  and  stands  always 
to  arrest  the  danger  from  the  tunnels. 

[  r3I  ] 


Northern  Europe 


The  other  foe  of  the  dikes  is  the  dreaded  teredo, 


or  borer  of  the  sea.  Whence  it  came  no  one 
knows,  but  many  suspect  that  it  was  first  brought 


by  ships  sailing  from  Indian 
ports.  About  the  middle  of 
the  eighteenth  century  it  was 
discovered  that  a  shellfish 
was  industriously  perforat¬ 
ing  the  submerged  wharf 
timbers  and,  worst  of  all, 


T  the  sunken  piles.  A  hasty 


examination  showed  that  at 


A  Teredo  and  its  Work 


many  places  the  very  bul¬ 


warks  of  Holland’s  safety  were  heartless  shells, 
nothing  but  worm-eaten  wood. 

This  discovery  threw  Holland  into  dismay; 
it  seemed  to  presage  the  -destruction,  of  the 
country,  and  the  ignorance  of  any  preventive 
stimulated  the  fear  that  the  worst  possible 
calamity  was  near  at  hand.  Commissions  of 
learned  specialists  were  appointed  to  study  the 
teredo’s  life  history  and  devise  means  for  protect¬ 
ing  timber  from  its  attack.  The  view  of  the 
teredo  here  given  is  taken  from  the  report  of  one 
of  these  commissions. 


[  n2  ] 


Holland’s  War  with  the  Sea 


It  was  rightly  presumed  that  the  borer  came 
from  without,  although  his  most  destructive 
work  was  on  the  inside  of  the  timber ;  therefore 
the  proposition  was  made  to  protect  the  surface. 
The  conclusion  was  reached  that  a  mere  coating 
of  tar  or  paint  would  be  useless,  and  so  large¬ 
headed  nails  were  driven  into  the  wood  so  close 
together  that  they  practically  gave  to  it  a  coat  of 
mail. 

But  chemistry  was  more  potent  than  physics. 
The  youthful  teredo  could  doubtless  have  found 
an  unprotected  spot  large  enough  for  his  entry, 
but  the  wood  became  so  saturated  with  the 
oxides  from  the  rusting  nails  that  the  borer 
found  the  interior  portions  not  to  his  taste.  He 
was  thus  kept  near  the  surface  and  exposed  to 
the  terrible  cold  of  the  northern  winters,  which 
finally  killed  him. 

Lately,  the  teredo  has  reappeared;  but  caution 
has  kept  the  more  important  piles  covered,  in 
part  at  least,  by  copper  sheathing.  Along  the 
dikes  of  Friesland  enough  copper  has  been  used 
for  this  purpose  to  cover  the  entire  dike. 

The  teredo  has  made  Holland  tremble,  —  a 
triumph  denied  to  the  tempests  of  the  ocean  and 

[  *33  ] 


Northern  Europe 


the  anger  of  Philip  of  Spain, — and  a  little  rabbit 
threatens  her  strongest  defense. 

To  the  Dutchman  looking  at  the  river  over 
his  dike,  and  rejoicing  in  its  goodly  proportions, 
there  comes  the  chilling  query :  “  Is  the  teredo 
eating  away  the  strength  of  the  retaining  piles  ?  ” 


A  Dutch  Canal  higher  than  the  Land 


A  stranger  listening  to  the  roar  of  the  sea 
across  the  dunes  might  be  surprised  at  the  evident 
fear  with  which  his  Dutch  companion  would  see 
a  rabbit  start  from  its  burrow.  But  those  who 
know  Holland  best  realize  the  cost  of  its  creation, 
and  those  who  love  Holland  most  sympathize 
with  her  people  in  their  incessant  war  with  the 
sea,  the  tiny  teredo,  and  the  timid  rabbit. 

James  Howard  Gore. 


[  C34  ] 


PRONOUNCING  VOCABULARY  OF  PROPER 
NAMES,  FOREIGN  WORDS,  Etc. 


The  pronunciations  are ,  loith  a  few  exceptions,  those  of  Webster's 
International  Dictionary 


Explanation  of  Diacritical  Marks 

a,  e,  i,  6,  ti,  long;  a,  e,  6,  less' prolong  ed ;  a,  e,  i,  6,  u,  short;  a,  e, 
i,  o,  u,  obscure ;  far.  last,  fall,  care  ;  term  ;  food,  foot ;  furl ;  6  as  in 
for ;  oi  as  in  oil;  o\v  as  in  cow ;  ch  as  in  chin;  g  as  in  get ;  n  as  in 
linger,  link;  ng  as  in  sing ;  th  as  in  thin;  ttr  as  in  thine;  zh  =  z  in 
azure;  n  =  French  nasal;  ii  =  French  u;  k  =  German  cli. 


Aletschhorn  (a'  lech  horn) 

Alpine  (ah  pin  or  -pin) 

Alps  (alps) 

America  (a  mer'  I  ka) 

Amtmand  (amt'  mand) 

Appenzell  (ip  pent  sel') 

Arab  (ar'  ab) 

Arc  de  Triomphe  (ark  de  tre  o.s’f') 
Athenian  (a  the'  ni  an) 

Atlantic  (St  lan'  tik) 

August  (a'  gust) 

Au  revoir  (5  re  vwii') 

Austerlitz  (as'  ter  lits) 

Austria  (as'  tri  a) 

Avranches  (a'  vroNsh') 


Baltimore  (bah  ti  mor  or  -mor) 
Bayonne  (ba  yon') 

Beaumont  (bo'  mdnt) 

Bel  Alp  (bel  alp') 

Belgians  (bel'  ji  ans) 

Belgium  (beh  ji  uni) 

Biscay  (bis'  ka) 

Bois  de  Boulogne  (bwa'  de  bdo- 
lon') 

Bordeaux  (bor  do') 

Brieg  (breg) 

Britain  (brit'  an) 

Brock  (brook) 

Bunker  (biin'  ker) 

Byzantine  (bi  zan'  tin) 


Campanile  (kanh  pa  ne'  lit) 
Carriole  (kiir'  ri  61) 

[  !35  ] 


Babel  (b;V  bel) 
Babette  (babet') 


Northern  Europe 


Chalet  (sha  la') 

Chanques  (shaxk) 

Charity  (sha  re  ta') 

Christiania  (krls'  te  a'  nl  ii) 
Christinas  (krls'  mas) 

Danish  (dan'Ish) 

Denmark  (den'  mark) 

Dimon  (di'  mon) 

Dornon  (dor  non') 

Dutchman  (duch'  man) 

Edam  (a' diim') 

Egypt  (e'jipt) 

Eiffel  (ef'  fel'  or  i'  fel) 

England  (In' gland) 

English  (In'  gllsh) 

Erasmus  (e  raz'  mus) 

Eskimo  (es'  kl  mo) 

Europe  (u'  rup) 

European  (u  ro  pe'  an) 

Faroe  (fa'  ro  or  fa'  ro  e) 

Faroese  (fa,'  ro  ez') 

Flemish  (flem'Ish) 

France  (frans) 

Fraulein  (froi'  lln) 

Friesland  (frez'  land) 

Fundy  (fun'  di) 

Gascony  (gas'  ko  ill) 

Gauls  (galz) 

Genet  (zhe  na') 

Germanic  (jer  man'  Ik) 

Germany  (jer'  ma  nl) 

Granville  (gras  vel') 

Groote  Markt  (gro'  ta  markt) 

[ 


Guernsey  (gern'zl) 

Gustave  (goostav') 

Hallehardiers  (lial  bar  de  a') 
Holland  (hoi'  land) 

Holstein  (liol'  stln) 

Hoof  dyzer  (hof'  di'  zer) 

Hotel  de  Yille  (o  tel'  de  vel') 

Iceland  (Is'  land) 

Indian  (In'  di  an  or  -yan) 
Invalides  (5n  va  led') 

Irish  (I'  rlsli) 

Italian  (I  tal'  yan) 

Jans  (yanz) 

Japanese  (jSp  a  nez'  or  -nes') 
Jeanne  (zhan) 

Jersey  (jer'  zl) 

Josephine  (jo'  ze  fen) 

Jungfrau  (y dong' fro w) 

La  Nature  (la  na  tur') 
Landamman  (lan'  dam  man) 
Landes  (loNd) 

Lion  d’Or  (le'  on  dor') 
Lombardy  (15m'  bar  di) 

Louvre  (loovr) 

Luxembourg  (ltiks  on  boor') 

Maas  (mas) 

Madeleine  (mad  lan') 

Meuse  (muz) 

Mevrouw  (ma  vrow') 

Milan  (mil'  an  or  ml  lan') 

Mir  (mer) 

Monsieur  (mo  sye'  or  mo  ser') 


Pronouncing  Vocabulary 


Montmartre  (iiion  martr') 

Mont  St.  Michel  (moN'  saN  me¬ 
sh  el') 

Mont  Val6rien  (iiion'  va  la  re  &n') 
Moscow  (mbs'  ko) 

Moselkern  (mo  zel'  kern) 

Moselle  (mo  zel') 

Mynheer  (min  har') 

Napoleon  (na  po'  1§  on) 

Naters  (na  ters') 

Neptune  (nep'  tune) 

Netherlands  (neth'  er  landz) 
Norman  (nor'  man) 

Normandy  (nor'  man  di) 

Norway  (nor'  wa) 

Norwegian  (nor  we'  jl  an) 

Notre  Dame  (notr  dam') 

Oberland  (o'  her  lant) 

October  (5k  to'  ber) 

Ossa  (os'  sa) 

Pantheon  (pan  the'  on  or  pan'- 
th4  on) 

Paris  (par' Is) 

Parthenon  (par'  the  non) 

Pelion  (pe'  II  on) 

Philip  (fll'Ip) 

Place  de  la  Concorde  (plas'  de  la 
koN  kord') 

Rhine  (rln) 

Rhone  (ron) 

Rotterdam  (rot'  er  dam') 

Russia  (rush'  a) 


Sabots  (sabo') 

St.  Petersburg  (sant  pe' terz  burg) 
St.  Sul  pice  (saN  siil  pes')  • 

Salut  a  la  mort  (sa  lii'  ta  la  mor') 
Samovar  (sa'  mo  var) 

Saturday  (sat'  tir  da) 

Schloss  Eltz  (schlos'  elts') 

Scotch  (skoch) 

Scotland  (skot'  land) 

Seine  (sail) 

September  (sep  tern'  ber) 

Siberia  (si  be'  rt  a) 

Simplon  (slm'plon  or  saNplox') 
Sion  (se  on') 

Spain  (span) 

Sunday  (sun'  da) 

Sweden  (swe'  den) 

Swiss  (swls) 

Switzerland  (swlt'  zer  land) 
Sylvain  (sil  vun') 

Thorsliavn  (tors  hown') 

Tour  St.  Jacques  (toor  sun  zhiik') 
Treves  (trevz) 

Trocadero  (tro  ca  da'  ro) 

Trogen  (tro'  icen) 

Tuileries  (twe'  le  rlz  or  twel  re') 

Un  petit  sou  (un  p’  te  soo') 

Yendome  (von  dom') 

Walloons  (wol  loonz') 
Washington  (wosh' Ing  ton) 

Wat  wil  (viit  vil) 


[  >37  ] 


Date  Due 

JVJL  2  ” 

1  ' 

L.  B.  Cat.  No.  1137 

6 


N  9’t‘f 


r.v-Lgr^u-  Q?e 

C.C-. 

'NVf 


Duke  University  Libraries 


DO 


272695W 


